V   v    \/ 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH 

A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 


BY 

AUGUSTUS    THOMAS 

Revised  1916  by  AUGUSTUS  THOMAS 

Copyright.  1916,  by  AUGUSTUS  THOMAS 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

CAUTION.— All  persons  are  hereby  warned  that  "OLI 
VER  GOLDSMITH,"  being  fully  protected  under  the 
copyright  laws  of  the  United  States,  is  subject  to 
royalty,  and  anyone  presenting  the  play  without  the 
consent  of  the  owners  or  their  authorized  agents 
will  be  liable  to  the  penalties  by  law  provided  Ap 
plication  for  amateur  acting  rights  must  be  made  to 
SAMUEL  FRENCH.  2S-30  Went  38th  street.  New  York. 
Application  for  the  professional  acting  rights  must 
be  made  to  the  AMERICAN  PLAY  COMPANY  33 
West  42nd  Street,  New  York. 


NEW  YORK 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30  WEST  38TH  STREET 


LONDON 

SAMUEL  FRENCH.  LTD. 
SOUTHAMPTON  STREET 
STRAND 


Especial  notice  should  be  taken  that  the  possession  of  this 
book  without  a  valid  contract  for  production  first  having 
been  obtained  from  the  publisher,  confers  no  right  or  license 
to  professionals  or  amateurs  to  produce  the  play  publicly  or 
in  private  for  gain  or  charity. 

In  its  present  form  this  play  is  dedicated  to  the  reading 
public  only,  and  no  performance  of  it  may  be  given  except 
by  special  arrangement  with  Samuel  French,  28-30  West  38th 
Street,  New  York. 

SECTION  28— That  any  person  who  wilfully  or  for  profit 
shall  infringe  any  copyright  secured  by  this  act,  or  who  shall 
knowingly  and  wilfully  aid  or  abet  such  infringement  shall 
be  deemed  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor,  and  upon  conviction 
thereof  shall  be  punished  by  imprisonment  for  not  exceeding 
one  year,  or  by  a  fine  of  not  less  than  one  hundred  nor  more 
than  one  thousand  dollars,  or  both;  in  the  discretion  of  the 
court. 

Act  of  March  4,  1909. 


LOAN  r  AOC 


/I* 


PREFACE. 


THIS  preface  is  the  fourth  of  a  short  series  pre 
fixed  each  to  a  play.  The  first  dealt  with  a  drama 
written  to  exploit  a  theory:  perhaps  the  most  dif 
ficult  starting  point  that  a  playwright  can  take.  The 
second  explained  a  play  written  to  fit  a  particular 
actor.  The  third  showed  a  method  of  utilizing  some 
bits  of  material  in  the  playwright's  possession  and 
supposed  to  be  funny. 

This  preface  will  tell  of  the  construction  of  a  play 
about  an  historical  character ;  a  comedy  made  from 
incidents  principally  authentic  and  associated  in  this 
case  with  a  figure  in  literary  history ;  the  building  of 
a  play  about  a  man  more  or  less  well  known  in 
anecdote  and  biography. 

Except  for  the  writer  engaged  in  similar  work,  it 
cannot  have  the  interest  of  the  task  imposed  by  the 
other  plays.  It  is  largely  a  "  scissors  and  paste-pot  " 
undertaking,  and  is  the  least  difficult  and  least  com 
mendable  of  a  playwright's  performances,  except 
ing,  perhaps,  the  dramatizing  of  a  novel,  which  it 
strongly  resembles.  The  finished  product,  depend 
ent  as  it  is  upon  research,  can  never  have  the  value 
of  a  play  written  by  equal  experience  and  based  on 
observation,  but  dramatic  literature  would  neverthe 
less  be  the  loser  if  we  eliminated  such  plays  as 
Richelieu,  David  Garrick,  Edmund  Kean,  Amy 
Robsart,  Beau  Brummell,  Nathan  Hale,  Tom 
Moore,  Disraeli  and  the  like,  all  made  after  much 
the  same  fashion.  It  is  perhaps  pertinent  then  to 
repeat  the  implication  of  the  other  prefaces  that  the 
series  is  modestly  addressed  to  workers  in  the  same 
field. 

I  had  already  made  for  Mr.  Stuart  Robson  so 

3 


931 


4  PREFACE. 

long  and  so  well  known  as  business  associate  and 
fellow  artist  with  Mr.  William  H.  Crane,  a  drama 
tization  of  Mr.  Opie  Reed's  "  Jucklins "  and  had 
written  for  him  an  original  comedy  called  "  The 
Meddler  ".  Both  pieces  had  served  their  time  and 
purpose  and  Mr.  Robson  was  in  need  of  a  new 
vehicle.  We  were  old  friends  of  many  years'  inti 
mate  acquaintance  and  I  had  for  "  Rob  "  a  great 
respect  and  real  affection.  In  our  earlier  days  I 
had  been  "  haunted  "  with  a  sense  of  having  known 
him  before ;  that  consciousness  so  common  of  being 
constantly  reminded  of  some  uncertain  other.  This 
feeling  cleared  up  one  day,  with  the  sudden  recogni 
tion  of  his  resemblance  to  the  profile  portraits  of 
Oliver  Goldsmith;  and  the  idea  being  brought  to 
the  surface  we  amused  ourselves  by  my  establishing 
such  resemblances  of  character  between  the  poet 
and  the  actor  as  a  tolerant  fancy  and  the  absence  of 
vanity  would  accept.  And  with  the  profile  and 
these  convivial  qualifications  "  Rob  "  consented  to 
announce  "Oliver  Goldsmith"  in  preparation;  and 
I  began  training  for  the  play. 

The  pitfalls  in  such  a  task  are  the  disposition  to 
Crowd  a  life  time  into  two  hours  and  a  half;  the 
temptation  to  touch  briefly  all  the  attractive  inci 
dents  in  a  biography  rather  than  to  grasp  firmly, 
and  treat  thoroughly,  the  principal  dramatic  hap 
pening;  the  inclination  to  be  episodic,  instead  of 
symmetrical  and  proportionate ;  and  the  weakness 
to  be  historically  accurate,  and  historically  cribbed, 
instead  of  bending  the  facts  to  one's  purpose  and 
inventing  enough  line  to  round  out  an  indicated  arc. 
The  fatal  wish  "  to  tell  all "  almost  invariably  in 
cludes  "  the  death ",  that  headsman  in  so  many 
semi-historical  attempts.  Now  deaths  are  naturally 
very  definite  finishes  but  unless  they  affect  the  emo 
tions  of  remaining  and  very  important  characters 
in  the  play,  or  are  in  themselves  the  result  of  the 


PREFACE.  5 

dramatic  clash,  their  usefulness  should  be  ques 
tioned. 

The  big  thing  in  Goldsmith's  life  from  my  point 
of  view  was  his  production  of  "  She  Stoops  to  Con 
quer  ".  It  was  a  fairly  sized  fact  in  Stuart  Rob- 
son's  life,  as  Tony  Lumpkin  in  that  play  was  a  part 
in  which  he  had  won  much  applause.  Also  Gold 
smith's  seizing  of  the  idea  that  was  the  germ  of  the 
play,  the  mistaking  the  house  of  a  private  gentleman 
for  an  inn,  was  of  itself  capital  material  as  his  own 
play  showed;  and  in  a  theatrical  use  of  Goldsmith 
and  his  play  that  initial  happening  had  logical  place. 

I  therefore  decided  to  make  his  conception  of 
"  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  ";  the  public  production  of 
it;  and  the  immediate  consequences  of  its  success 
the  subject  of  the  play  to  be  called  Oliver  Gold 
smith;  and  to  take  the  time  included  in  that  action 
for  the  period  we  would  try  to  dramatize ;  and  to 
make  the  persons  logically  or  poetically  associated 
with  his  play,  and  with  Goldsmith  during  that 
period,  the  characters  in  the  play  for  Stuart 
Robson. 

Within  this  restricted  field  I  re-read  the  few  re 
lated  things  with  which  I  had  any  familiarity,  and 
read  newly  all  that  these  pointed  to  as  valuable: 
that  is  to  say  I  read,  or  re-read,  the  lives  of  Gold 
smith,  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson,  David  Garrick,  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  Edmund  Burke  and  James  Bos- 
well.  I  read  also  the  things  those  men  had  written. 
As  Goldsmith  had  drawn  upon  one  misadventure  of 
his  own  for  the  idea  of  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  ",  I 
suspected  him  of  other  biographical  confessions  dis 
guised  in  his  other  writings.  I  found  an  excellently 
humorous  situation,  rather  indifferently  treated,  in 
his  "  Good  Natured  Man  ",  where  a  bailiff  and  his 
deputy,  in  possession  of  the  hero  and  his  premises, 
are  persuaded  to  disguise  themselves  as  visitors  and 
to  be  so  introduced  to  some  unexpected  callers.  I 


6  PREFACE. 

had  little  doubt  that  in  those  old  days  of  arrest  for 
small  accounts  over  due;  of  bribes  to  bailiffs;  of 
sudden  seizure  of  goods  and  person ;  of  the  spong 
ing  house;  and  imprisonment  for  debt,  some  such 
occurrence  was  within  Goldsmith's  knowledge  and 
may  be  experience.  In  fact  his  casual,  rather  than 
a  capital  use  of  it,  inclined  me  to  think  that  perhaps 
it  was  too  common  to  be  played  up  strongly;  just  as 
some  years  ago  in  America,  a  hotel  proprietor, 
hopefully  accompanying  some  hard  up,  fly-by-night 
show  company  was  too  recurrent  for  astonished 
comment.  That  was  the  only  scene  that  I  adapted 
from  a  Goldsmith  play,  and  there  is  a  singular  irony 
in  the  fact  that  it  was  the  only  one  that  was  criti 
cized  by  a  newspaper  as  being  too  improbable. 

With  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer "  as  my  assem 
bling  point  of  interest  I  found  these  historical  facts : 

That  it  was  founded  on  a  blunder  of  his  own 
previously  referred  to ;  Colman,  his  manager,  ob 
jected  to  it  on  the  ground  that  no  such  blunder 
could  occur;  David  Garrick,  a  rival  manager  and 
the  friend  of  Goldsmith  was  ready  to  produce  the 
play;  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson  thought  it  excellent 
and  was  instrumental  in  having  it  done  by  Col 
man  ;  Dr.  Johnson  suggested  the  name  for  it ;  Gold 
smith  caned  a  critic  who  in  reviewing  it  unfavor 
ably  had  unpleasantly  connected  Goldsmith's  name 
with  that  of  a  young  lady  for  whose  family  Gold 
smith  had  acted  as  escort  during  a  trip  on  the  Con 
tinent;  Goldsmith  was  familiar  with  the  lines  in  the 
part  of  Tony  Lumpkin;  Edmund  Burke  thought  it 
a  good  play  and  was  very  friendly  with  Goldsmith 
during  the  period  of  its  preparation. 

These  facts  all  made  "  She  Stoops  "  not  only  a 
central  point  for  a  dramatic  story  of  Goldsmith  but 
they  enforced  a  veritable  portrait  gallery  of  notables 
for  the  cast,  each  strongly  characterized,  and  all 
picturesque  to  a  degree.  The  most  notable  of  the 
lot  was  of  course  Doctor  Johnson.  The  most  lov- 


PREFACE.  7 

able  and  warm-hearted,  after  Oliver  himself,  was 
his  fellow  Irishman,  Edmund  Burke ;  while  the  most 
gallantly  picturesque  was  Garrick.  Boswell  de 
lightfully  pictures  him,  holding  Johnson  by  the 
lapels  and  dancing  about  him  with  laughter,  trying 
to  cheer  the  old  man  from  some  fit  of  displeasure; 
or  making  the  coffee  house  club  roar  with  some  imi 
tation  of  a  member ;  or  playing  some  protean  prank 
of  impersonation.  It  was  all  so  warm  and  human 
and  fraternal,  the  daily  association  of  these  gifted 
men  drawn  together  by  their  congenial  tastes,  and 
their  common  interest  in  art,  in  letters,  and  in  the 
playhouse  for  which  all  were  writing,  and  some 
what  held  together  by  their  occasionally  equal  pov 
erty. 

In  my  own  observation  there  had  been  certain 
memorable,  chimney-corner,  nights  at  the  Lambs 
Club,  which  gave  the  nearest  modern  approach  that 
America  furnished  to  that  coffee  house  atmosphere ; 
nights  in  which  the  gentle  influence  of  Robson  him 
self  was  measurable,  and  that  made  the  considera 
tion  of  such  a  play  a  genuine  pleasure. 

The  wish  to  use  that  earlier  group  of  men  made 
not  only  a  portrait  of  Goldsmith  necessary  but 
called  for  equal  physical  resemblance  in  the  others. 

That  distinguished  writer  and  illustrator  of  the 
present  day,  Mr.  Walter  Hale,  was  at  the  time  of 
our  production  an  actor ;  and  while  finer  looking  and 
more  romantic  than  the  portraits  of  Edmund  Burke, 
he  was  as  strikingly  like  them  as  Robson  was  like 
the  Goldsmith  pictures.  The  nearest  approach  we 
could  make  to  Garrick  among  the  American  players 
of  prominence  was  Mr.  Henry  Dixey.  Both  these 
men  were  tentatively  engaged  before  the  play  was 
written  and  the  idea  of  each  was  inspiring  to  the 
writer.  In  private  life  Henry  Dixey  is  so  con 
stantly  protean  that  his  existence  seems  a  continu 
ous  series  of  secondary  personalities — from  long 
shoreman  to  grand  dukes ;  and  chameleon  like,  he 


8  PREFACE. 

takes  his  color  from  the  dominant  factor  of  the 
running  talk,  or  group  composition.  If  Mr.  DeWolf 
Hopper  comes  into  the  circle,  Dixey  beams  as  a 
comic  opera  buffo.  If  Dixey  meets  Mr.  Drew  on 
the  steps  of  the  club  house,  out  comes  the  imaginary 
snuff  box  and  with  "  Sir  John  "  he  exchanges  the 
courtesies  of  the  old  English  gentleman,  and  fin 
ishes  by  dusting  the  snuff  from  his  phantom  ruffles. 

We  were  equally  fortunate  in  getting  an  expon 
ent  for  Doctor  Johnson  in  the  person  of  Mr. 
Weaver,  a  venerable  actor  of  that  time. 

In  shaping  a  first  outline  of  the  play  for  Robson, 
I  felt  that  the  form  should  be  three  acts ;  and  if  so 
that  the  production  of  "  She  Stoops  "  should  serve 
as  act  two.  The  first  night  itself  would  be  the  ap 
parently  logical  setting ;  but  as  plays  when  depicted 
in  the  moment  of  presentation  are  usually  looked  at 
from  behind  the  scenes,  and  their  progress  reported 
by  eager  relays  of  couriers  from  the  wings,  I  felt 
that  a  rehearsal  that  could  be  shown,  was  preferable 
to  a  performance  that  had  to  be  only  talked  about. 

Moreover,  the  rehearsal,  if  we  introduced  Gar- 
rick,  might  show  the  professional  side  of  that  actor. 
It  could  show  Johnson's  interest ;  and  it  would  give 
Mr.  Goldsmith,  as  author,  a  chance  to  rehearse. 
Tony  Lumpkin,  which  Mr.  Robson  would  do  very 
well. 

In  picking  your  proposed  work  up  that  way  by 
the  middle,  as  a  tailor  might  pick  up  the  basted 
pattern  of  a  pair  of  trousers  it  is  well  to  study  a 
more  graceful  presentation  for  the  finished  prod 
uct;  and  the  finish  of  the  second  act  of  a  three  act 
play  is  likely  to  be  your  climax  and  most  important 
moment.  Years  ago  Mr.  George  Broadhurst 
thought  his  failures  had  taught  him — and  the  best 
things  a  playwright  knows  are  learned  that  way — 
had  taught  him  that  "  an  audience  at  your  penulti 
mate  curtain  will  not  applaud  a  thing  that  they  do 


PREFACE.  9 

not  wish  to  see  happen."  I  haven't  since  then  found 
any  reason  to  quarrel  with  that  Broadhurst  dictum 
— at  that  time  I  resolved  to  be  guided  by  it.  I  was 
to  choose  from  my  bulk  of  material  a  situation,  or 
using  some  of  it  as  spring  board,  was  to  jump  to 
some  invented  situation,  that  would  give  my  hero 
an  emotion  stirring  moment  in  the  accomplishment 
of  something  the  audience  would  like  to  see  take 
place. 

My  memoranda  included  those  items  of  interest 
connected  with  the  play  and  above  enumerated  and 
also  scores  of  lines  of  speech  or  dialogue  trans- 
scribed  from  the  books,  and  possibly  available  to 
their  proper  characters,  or  as  suggestions  of  episode 
or  situation.  In  a  review  of  them  and  after  I  had 
discounted  all  personal  feeling  in  judging  them,  it  I 
still  seemed  to  me  that  Goldsmith  caning  a  critic 
was  the  most  spirited  and  acceptable  bit.  If  the  set-\ 
ting  were  for  a  rehearsal,  and  the  company  were^ 
present,  the  caning  could  of  course  not  go  far  with 
out  interference.  The  critic  of  the  records,  a  man 
named  Kenrick  was  a  bitter  person,  but  by  no  means 
a  coward.  In  that  hostile  group  I  had  him  draw  his 
sword — gentlemen  still  wore  them  occasionally  at 
that  period — I  gave  Garrick  the  showy  bit  of  wrest 
ing  the  sword  from  him  and  breaking  it — while 
Burke  and  Johnson  restrained  Goldsmith  from  fur 
ther  assault. 

One  memorandum  was  a  transcription  of  the  par 
agraph  that  had  aroused  Goldsmith's  anger  and  it 
contained  the  phrase  "  Could  the  lovely  H-K  but 
know  " — etc. — The  lovely  H-K  was  understood  to 
be  Miss  Mary  Horneck  the  young  lady  who,  with 
her  mother  and  younger  sister,  had  been  under 
Goldsmith's  escort  in  France.  The  sister,  Cather 
ine,  was  generally  referred  to  by  Goldsmith  as  "  Lit 
tle  Comedy ",  and  for  Mary  his  regard  was  evi 
dently  more  serious  and  his  address  more  formal. 


jo  PREFACE. 

Kenrick's  allusion  to  her  implied  that  Goldsmith's 
attentions  were  at  least  noticeable;  and  the  use  of 
the  knowledge  in  that  way  indicated  an  envy,  and 
perhaps  a  rivalry,  on  the  part  of  the  critic. 

Evidences  of  Goldsmith's  sentimental  interests  in 
women  are  about  as  rare  and  as  slight  as  those 
recorded  of  George  Washington  before  his  meeting 
with  Martha  Custis,  and  any  romance  constructed 
from  them  must  hinge  upon  slender  hints.  Ken- 
rick's  printed  resentment;  Goldsmith's  prompt  can 
ing  of  him;  and  the  recorded  friendship  of  the 
Horneck  family  for  the  poet,  gave  me  enough  stage 
license  to  portray  Mary  as  his  sweetheart,  and  in 
vent  such  romance  as  the  sketchy  confines  of  the 
facts  did  not  violently  contradict.  Of  course  Mary 
should  be  present  at  this  spontaneous  encounter, 
and  bear  the  most  effective  relation  to  the  scene  that 
.the  playwright  could  devise. 

To  be  back  of  the  scenes  in  the  day  time,  a  young 
lady  would  need  more  than  the  company  of  a 
younger  sister.  I  think  I  found  Mrs.  Featherstone 
in  Boswell's  life  of  Johnson ;  also  her  connection 
with  the  theatre;  and  her  suburban  residence — I 
made  Kenrick,  Goldsmith's  avowed  rival,  and  to 
further  enhance  Mary's  popularity,  I  made  Burke 
also  interested  in  her. 

When  a  play  in  rehearsal  is  much  in  doubt  there 
is  always  considerable  flutter  between  the  stage  and 
the  box  office ;  and  in  the  day  time  the  shortest  way 
between  these  points  is  through  the  auditorium.  At 
the  time  we  were  doing  this  for  Robson,  putting 
members  of  the  company  in  the  stage  boxes  was  not 
unknown,  but  marching  actors  and  ballet  girls  up 
and  down  the  aisles  of  the  theatre  had  not  yet  been 
introduced  by  Sumurun  and  the  Winter  Garden — 
we  felt  that  Garrick  suddenly  appearing  in  the  par 
quet  with  Goldsmith,  and  taking  the  rehearsal  from 
less  experienced  hands  would  be  effective — as  it 
was.  In  the  text  of  the  play  it  is  rather  hard  read- 


PREFACE.  ii 

Ing  for  the  layman  to  follow  the  technical  shifts  in 
the  rehearsal  scene,  but  I  knew  with  the  experience 
of  Lambs  Club  Gambols,  what  these  shifts  would  be 
in  Dixey's  swift  changing  treatment.  Even  with 
the  danger  of  turning  this  preface  into  a  "  gaffer's  " 

fossip  I  must  record  one  episode  that  was  the  model 
or  a  short  passage,  again  nothing  in  the  printed 
line,  but  irresistible  with  Dixey.  The  late  Dan 
Daly,  gifted  comedian  and  dancer,  was  bending 
over  a  pool  table  in  the  club  carefully  "  addressing  " 
a  difficult  shot;  Dixey  happened  in  at  the  moment 
and,  immediately  possessed  by  the  Daly  personality, 
he  said  in  the  wooden  drawl  of  Daly's,  "  Do  you 
think  you  can  make  that  shot "  and  followed  the 
speech  with  the  stencil  "  break  "  of  the  clog  dancer, 
rap  tap  a  raptap — rap  tap  tap.  Daly  didn't  alter  his 
pose  a  particle  but  with  his  left  hand  still  making  a 
bridge  on  the  cloth  and  divining  the  imitator  with 
out  looking  around,  answered  in  the  same  tone,  "  I 
don't  know,  but  I  mean  to  try  " ;  and  in  true  mum 
mer  masonry  followed  his  speech  with  a  repetition 
of  the  clog  finish;  rap  tap  a  raptap — rap  tap  tap; 
and  capped  the  last  step  with  the  rythmic  stroke  of 
the  billiard  cue,  and  a  successful  shot.  Neither  co 
median  smiled  although  the  score  or  so  of  onlook 
ers  roared  with  laughter.  I  paraphrased  that 
spirited  exchange  and  gave  it  to  Dixey  and  the 
young  comic  who  did  "  props  ". 

The  incidents  related  and  referred  to  made  a 
sufficiently  full  second  act  and  the  preparation  for 
them  enforced  an  adequate  first  one. 

For  the  third  act  the  advisable  thing  was  to  carry 
the  Mary  Horneck  interest  to  an  implied  promise  of 
marriage;  to  show  Goldsmith  in  his  historic  attic; 
and  display  the  help  of  Johnson,  Burke  and  Gar- 
rick  in  those  trying  days.  The  sordid  arrest  for 
debt  was  modified  by  Goldsmith's  own  device  of 
dressing  up  the  bailiff ;  and  made  further  useful  by 
having  the  bailiff  not  genuine,  but  a  masquerade  of 


12  PREFACE. 

Garrick's,  undertaken  to  keep  Goldsmith,  an  inex 
perienced  swordsman,  from  a  duel  with  Kenrick 
who  had  some  knowledge  of  the  weapon.  This  was 
the  act  that  offered  an  over  numerous  choice  of  con 
struction  and  treatment.  Goldsmith  could  have 
been  shown  as  suffering,  and  dying  in  want,  as  he 
finally  did,  but  a  more  cheerful  period  was  just  as 
accurate,  and  more  closely  related  to  the  production 
of  his  comedy,  which,  as  was  stated  earlier,  was 
chosen  as  the  cohesive  idea  for  the  play  printed 
herewith. 

I  should  like  more  definitely  to  indicate  my  in 
debtedness  for  such  lines  as  were  transcribed  from 
various  historical  sources,  but  at  this  late  day  I  find 
it  is  not  possible  in  all  cases  to  tell  the  borrowed 
from  the  invented  speeches.  A  few  weeks'  reading 
of  Johnson,  Boswell,  Goldsmith,  Burke  and  Garrick 
saturates  one  with  the  manner  of  the  day,  and,  when 
needed,  a  little  sympathetic  reflection  gives  even  the 
manner  of  the  individual.  Nothing  in  fact  is  much 
easier  than  such  imitation  and  I  naturally  practiced 
it  wherever  it  did  not  halt  the  action.  It  is  a  plea 
sure  to  record  Stuart  Robson's  success  in  the  part, 
and  to  acknowledge  the  many  illuminating  touches 
his  gentle  art  brought  to  the  presentation.  A  fact 
that  gratified  him  profoundly  was  the  disposition, 
largely  inspired  by  the  advance  agent  I  suspect,  of 
the  English  literature  classes  of  the  various  semi 
naries  to  come  in  large  parties  to  see  his  play. 
Their  undiluted  interest  and  fluttering  approval 
were  more  valued  than  the  praise  of  the  profes 
sional  critics ;  the  gentlemen  of  the  press  were  look 
ing  at  the  actor,  but  the  girls  in  the  senior  division 
were  seeing  Oliver  Goldsmith. 

Augustus  Thomas. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


A  PLAY  IN  THREE  ACTS. 

CAST    OF    CHARACTERS    IN    ORDER    OF 
THEIR  APPEARANCE. 

SARAH  FEATHERSTONE Jeffreys  Lewis 

MARY  HORNECK Florence  Rockwell 

EDMUND  BURKE Walter  Hale 

FEATHERSTONE Edward  Dodge 

ROGER Walter  Clews 

DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON H.  A.  Weaver 

BOSWELL Beaumont  Smith 

DAVID  GARRICK Harry  Dixey 

CATHERINE  HORNECK Helen  Mortimer 

KENRICK Ogden  Stevens 

CAPT.  HORNECK Clifford  Leigh 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH Stuart  Robson 

LEADER  ORCHESTRA 
PROPERTY  MAN 
PROMPTER 

COLMAN Joseph  P.  Winter 

DRUMMOND Bert  Washburn 

MR.  QUIRK 

LITTLE  MARY Monica  Harris 

LITTLE  ANNIE Rice  a  Scott 

MRS.  HIGGINS Bessie  Scott 

TWITCH Harry  Dixey 

FLANNIGAN James  Grant 

BIFF Charles  E.  Long 

13 


14  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


ACT  I.  Scene — Interior  of  an  old  English 
country-house.  Main  room  done  in 
oak. 

ACT  II.  Theatre.  Stage  set  for  rehearsal  and 
one  or  two  of  leading  characters 
make  their  entrance  through  the 
audience. 

ACT  III.  A  garret.  GOLDSMITH'S  historical 
lodgings  in  London. 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  : — Interior  of  hall  of  English  country  house. 
Low  ceiling  with  beams.  At  back  and  center 
is  fireplace  with  heavy  shelf  and  inglenook 
seats — seats  are  about  ten  feet  apart.  To  left 
of  inglenook  is  square  opening  five  feet  wide 
into  reception  hall.  To  R.  of  inglenook  is  flight 
of  four  steps  and  platform  going  to  arch  lead- 
ing  off  through  wall  R.  The  steps  and  landing 
come  into  stage  from  back  flat.  There  are  also 
double  width  openings  in  I  R.  and  I  L.  with  in 
terior  backings.  The  one  R.  is  to  dining  room. 
The  one  L.  to  music  room  and  gallery.  There 
is  a  bay  window  L.  u.  E.  A  stag's  head  is  over 
fireplace.  Window  is  fitted  with  seat.  Be 
tween  window  and  door  is  old  black  wood  set 
tle.  There  is  a  massive  round  top  mahogany 
table  down  R.  c.  with  high  back  heavy  arm 
chairs  to  match.  Walls  are  wainscoted  and 
finished  above  in  terra  cotta.  Ceiling  between 
beams  is  plain  dark  wood. 

DISCOVERED : — MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  on  landing 
of  steps.  She  is  a  wholesome  and  robust  lady 
about  forty  years  old — and  wears  the  Kate 
Hard  castle  dress  of  the  period.  She  is  looking 
R.  I  and  smiling  in  anticipation.  Enter  MARY 
HORNECK  from  R.  MARY  starts  up  steps.  MRS. 
FEATHERSTONE  smiles  and  exit.  MARY  is  a 
15 


16  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

beautiful  girl  of  twenty.  Enter  EDMUND 
BURKE,  R.  BURKE  has  followed  MARY.  He  is 
the  young  BURKE  of  the  early  portraits. 

BURKE.    Mary.    (Goes  to  side  of  staircase) 

MARY.     Mr.  Burke. 

BURKE.    A  moment  with  you. 

MARY.    Well. 

BURKE.  (Gallantly,  yet  with  diffidence  as  he 
talks  to  her  over  the  banister)  It  isn't  an  Irish 
man's  way  to  stammer,  or  grow  still,  before  the  face 
of  a  woman  he  loves,  but  I  seem  an  alien  and  a 
weakling  whin  I  try  to  spake  to  you. 

MARY.    I  hope  you  will  say  no  more,  Mr.  Burke. 

BURKE.  That  may  be  justice,  Miss  Mary — but  it 
isn't  hope—  (Defers)  Won't  you  come  down. 
Ye'll  be  far  enough  above  me  wherever  ye  stand. 

MARY.  (Coming  down  to  stage)  I  don't  feel 
that  way.  You're  only  a  boy,  you  know — and  I 
want  you  to  remember  some  day  to  my  credit  that 
I  say  the  time  will  come  when  the  name  of  Edmund 
Burke  will  have  magic  in  it. 

BURKE.    If  thinkin'  of  you  could  make  it  so 

MARY.  (Stopping  him)  Not  that — Don't  think 
of  me. 

BURKE.  That  may  be  what  the  God  o'  Day  says 
to  the  sun  flower  but 

MARY.  (Compassionate  and  smiling)  Oh  Burke 
— you  boys  of  Ireland — you  say  those  things. 

BURKE.    We  feel  them. 

MARY.    You  think  you  do. 

BURKE.  We  prove  it  whin  we  may.  Give  me  a 
chance  to  die  for  you. 

MARY.  Nonsense !  I'll  give  you  a  chance  to  live 
— for  yourself.  You're  just  a  boy,  Ned  Burke 

BURKE.    I'm  older'n  you — 

MARY.  (Not  regarding  the  interruption)  You're 
filled  with  a  great  strength  that's  ready  to  lavish 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  17 

5tself  on  some  ideal.  You  think  now  that  /  am  that ; 
and  as  you  say — you'd  die  for  me 

BURKE.  (In  fervor  almost  tearful)  With  a 
smile 

MARY.  Yes,  you  spendthrift — "  with  a  smile  " — 
but  no  woman  is  worthy  of  the  sacrifice. 

BURKE.  (Accusing)  You  don't  love  me,  Mary 
Horneck. 

MARY.     (Smiling)    No,  Burke,  I  don't  love  you. 

BURKE.    If  I  were  only  an  Englishman 

MARY.  (Imitating  him)  Burke — whisper — if 
ever  I  marry  any  man  'twill  be  an  Irishman.  (Runs 
up  the  stairs) 

BURKE.  (Eagerly)  Mary — (She  turns  on  the 
landing  and  laughs  over  the  rail)  Is  it  Goldsmith? 

MARY.  I  won't  tell  you.  You'd  be  a  dangerous 
rival. 

BURKE.  To  him,  Nolly  Goldsmith?  Why  with 
him  I'd  divide  me  last  glass  of  liquor. 

MARY.  (Piquantly)  "  Your  last  glass."  I'm 
told  you  never  knew  it.  ( BURKE  waves  hand  down 
in  a  "  shoo  fly  "  manner.  Exit  MARY  R.  thru  arch  at 
landing) 

BURKE.  English? — She's  no  more  English  than 
the  Goddess  of  Liberty. 

(Enter  FEATHERSTONE  R.     He  is  the  host — ample 
and  well  to  do.) 

FEATHERSTONE.    Where  are  the  ladies  ? 

BURKE.     Like  the  angels,  Mr.  Featherstone 

FEATHERSTONE.    Eh 

BURKE.    Above.     (Exit  i  R.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Calling  up  to  stairway) 
Sarah,  Sarah  dear — (Pause)  Sarah 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.     (Upstairs)    Yes  William. 

FEATHERSTONE.    A  moment,  my  love. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Appearing  on  steps) 
What  is  it?  (Burst  of  laughter  i  R.) 


i8  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH, 

FEATHERSTONE.  (With  the  nervousness  of  the 
man  giving  the  party — )  Don't  keep  the  ladies  too 
long  above. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Why,  William,  what  have 
I  to  do  with  it? 

FEATHERSTONE.  I  know,  my  dear — I  know — but 
let's  have  no  formality.  I  mean  I'm  going  to  order 
our  tea  in  here;  and  pipes — Mr.  Garrick's  in  one  of 
his  best  moods,  and  the  ladies  must  be  with  us. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Very  well,  William.  It's 
good  of  you,  and  thoughtful.  (Starts  off) 

FEATHERSTONE.  But  wait,  Sarah!  until  I've  got 
'em  here  and  well  in  hand;  and  then  just  happen 
down  as  it  were,  and  so  on ;  and  of  course  the  ladies 
will  excuse  the  pipes  or  it's  no  doing  it  at  all. 
(Taps  gong  on  mantel  and  is  fussy) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Of  course,  dear. 

(Enter  servant  from  hall) 

FEATHERSTONE.  Roger,  I'm  home  to  no  one,  un 
derstand  ? 

ROGER.    Yes  sir. 

FEATHERSTONE.  That's  all.  (To  wife)  I 
wouldn't  have  this  evening  spoiled  by  any  soul  in 
Blackheath  happening  in — not  for  a  fortune.  Air. 
Boswell  has  his  note  book  in  hand,  and  I'm  told 
that's  a  sign  Doctor  Johnson  will  say  something 
notable.  Now  look  to  it,  Sarah.  (Motions  her  off) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.     Yes,  William.     (Exit) 

(Enter  JOHNSON  R.  i.     He  is  heavy  and  positive. 
The  Doctor  JOHNSON  of  the  dictionary.) 

FEATHERSTONE.    Why,  Doctor? 

JOHNSON.  ,  (In  unctuous  diction)  Oh,  Mr. 
Featherstone,  sir.  I  have  not  met  with  any  man  for 
a  long  time  who  has  given  me  such  general  dis 
pleasure. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  19 

FEATHERSTONE.    As  whom,  sir? 

(Enter    BOSWELL    R.    following    JOHNSON    atten 
tively.  ) 

JOHNSON.     (Going  c.)     That  man  Kenrick. 

FEATHERSTONE.  He  is  a  friend  of  Captain  Hor- 
neck,  sir. 

JOHNSON.  So  much  the  worse,  sir,  for  Captain 
Horneck.  (Goes  L.  of  table.  Laughter  off) 

FEATHERSTONE.  What  has  Mr.  Kenrick  done, 
Doctor?  How  offended  you? 

( BOSWELL  comes  attentively  back  of  table.) 

JOHNSON.  Sir,  he  swears;  and  talks  bawdy;  and 
to  annoy  me,  Davy  Garrick  encourages  him  by  his 
laughter. 

BOSWELL.  Oh,  sir — I  think  that  cannot  be  Mr. 
Garrick's  intention. 

JOHNSON.  (In  stormy  temper)  Sir,  I  have 
known  David  Garrick  longer  than  you  have  done: 
and  I  know  no  right — you  have  to  talk  to  me  on 
the  subject. 

FEATHERSTONE.  (To  BOSWELL)  It  doesn't  look 
so  promising  for  our  pleasant  evening. 

BOSWELL.  Don't  think  of  me,  sir.  I  deserved 
the  check — (Goes  L.  c.) 

(Enter  GARRICK.  He  is  in  full  dress  and  court- 
wig  and  with  the  ease  and  grace  of  the  prac 
ticed  actor.) 

GARRICK.  (Laughing)  How  now,  Doctor — you 
leave  us  just  when  I've  reduced  every  listener  to  a 
comatose  condition  and  your  audience  was  ready 
for  you. 

(JOHNSON  waves  him  off.) 


20  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

FEATHERSTONE.  Dr.  Johnson  thinks  Mr.  Ken- 
rick  is  too  broad  in  his  converse,  sir. 

JOHNSON.    Sir,  I  think  him  too  narrow 

BOSWELL.  Doctor  Kenrick  spoke  disrespectfully 
of  Bishops. 

GARRICK.     Yes — but  of  a  Roman  Bishop 

JOHNSON.  All  churchmen,  sir,  stand  for  the  idea 
of  immortality ;  and  if  it  wasn't  for  the  idea  of  im 
mortality  this  fellow  Kenrick  would  cut  throats  to 
fill  his  pocket. 

GARRICK.  You  wrong  him,  believe  me.  I  know 
Kenrick  very  well.  He'd  cut  throats  to  fill  his 
pocket  if  it  wasn't  for  the  fear  of  being  hanged. 
(Laughs) 

(Enter  BURKE.) 

BURKE.  (Laughing)  Not  me — You  fellows  are 
dev'lish  cunning  but  you  can't  unload  the  gentle 
man  onto  me. 

GARRICK.    Who  is  he? 

BURKE.    I'm  damned  if  I  know. 

JOHNSON.  (Growling)  Ugh!  (Glares  at 
BURKE.  GARRICK  mimics  him-  in  tone  and  manner, 
to  the  quiet  amusement  of  all  but  BOSWELL.  Pause) 
I  don't  like  to  say  anything  against  the  man  behind 
his  back  but  I  think  he's  an  attorney. 

FEATHERSTONE.  Oh  no,  sir — Captain  Horneck 
fetched  him  as  company  to  one  of  his  sisters 

GARRICK.  (Glancing  at  BURKE)  Oh,  then 
clearly  not  an  attorney. 

BURKE.  To  the  devil  with  you,  Garrick,  an  at 
torney  ;  a  coach  and  six  to  a  player. 

JOHNSON.  Why  look  you,  Mr.  Burke,  Garrick 
refuses  a  play  or  a  part  that  he  doesn't  like 

BURKE.    Well,  sir? 

JOHNSON.    A  lawyer  never  does. 

GARRICK.     (Playfully  catching  JOHNSON  by  the 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  21 

coat)  Now  attend  me,  sir — In  a  bout  with  Ned 
Burke  and  his  Irish  imagination  for  facts,  I  may 
need  a  bit  of  friendly  help,  but  I  don't  need  a  three- 
decker.  (Dances  about  him  as  JOHNSON  grows 
serious)  Come,  cheer  up,  old  Grumpy. 

JOHNSON.  Why,  Davy,  I'd  consent  to  the  ampu 
tation  of  a  limb  to  have  my  spirits  restored. 

GARRICK.  It's  more  simply  done.  Come,  take  the 
head  of  the  table  (Raps  on  it)  and  say  "  gentle 
men!  Who's  for  poonsli."  (Mimics  JOHNSON) 

JOHNSON.  (Smiling)  Don't  pretend  to  mimic 
me,  you  rascal.  I  don't  say  poonsh. 

BOSWELL.  Sir,  your  pardon — but  I've  often  noted 
that  you  do  so  in  moments  of  deep  abstraction. 

BURKE.  Faith — there's  politeness.  He  calls  it 
"  deep  abstraction." 

JOHNSON.  Mr.  Boswell,  I  wish  you'd  make  a 
trip  through — through  Spain. 

BOSWELL.     (Writing)     Through  Spain,  sir? 

JOHNSON.    Yes — on  foot. 

BOSWELL.    On  fuit,  sir. 

GARRICK.  (Mimicing)  The  gentleman  said  on 
fuit. 

BOSWELL.    Now  he  mimics  me,  sir. 

JOHNSON.  (Sits)  Does  he— (Raps)  Well, 
gentlemen — who  is  for  "  poonsh."  (Glares  at  GAR 
RICK) 

GARRICK.  And  London  says  he  taught  me  Eng 
lish.  (All  laugh) 

JOHNSON.  A  clever  ruse,  sir — (Pause)  But — • 
nobody  taught  you  English. 

(Laughter  in  which  JOHNSON  leads  boisterously. 
Exit  JOHNSON  laughing.) 

GARRICK.    He  laughs  like  a  rhinoceros. 
(Enter  CATHERINE  to  landing  of  stairs.) 


22  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

BURKE.  You're  a  true  comedian,  Davy — yoti 
can't  stand  the  laugh  at  your  expense.  (Exit) 

GARRICK.     I  never  have  to.     (Following) 

CATHERINE.    Mr.  Garrick! 

GARRICK.  Ah!  what  light  thro*  yonder  window; 
shines  ?  ("  Takes  the  stage  ") 

CATHERINE.  Don't  play-act,  David — I've  only 
a  moment — Mary  wishes  some  excuse  to  call  us 
home. 

GARRICK.     Why  ? 

CATHERINE.  She  didn't  know  this  man  was  to  be 
here. 

GARRICK.    Which  man  ? 

CATHERINE.    Kenrick. 

GARRICK.     Does  Mary  dislike  Kenrick? 

CATHERINE.    Don't  you? 

GARRICK.  I  ?  Naturally — He's  a  dramatic  critic 
— but  Mary's  not  an  actress. 

CATHERINE.  Can't  you  pretend  a  message  has' 
come  for  us? 

GARRICK.  (In  his  romantic  manner)  I  can — 
but  I  won't — Do  you  think  my  sweet  lady,  that  you 
may  make  eyes  at  me  night  after  night  from  the 
stalls — where  the  orange  girls  and  the  bailiffs  pro 
tect  you  and  then  escape  me  with  my  consent  the 
first  time  that  chance  throws  us  together  in  a  coun 
try  house — ha  ha 

CATHERINE.  Please  do — Mary'll  be  so  grate 
ful 

GARRICK.  Now — (Takes  her  hand  anad  drama 
tizes  the  balcony) 

CATHERINE.    Don't  do  that. 

GARRICK.  I  would  I  were  a  glove  upon  that 
hand 

CATHERINE.    Mrs.  Featherstone  is  calling  me. 

GARRICK.    Say  "  Bye  and  Bye  I  come." 

CATHERINE.    David — don't  be  stupid. 

GARRICK.     (With  her  hand)     By  Jove — not  big- 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  23 

ger  than  a  puff  ball  and  soft  as  a  kitten's — to  think 
how  they've  made  my  heart  flutter  when  I've  seen 
you  patting  them  together  at  the  play. 

CATHERINE.  This  is  very  unkind  of  you — some 
one  may  come. 

GARRICK.  (Shaking  head)  Don't  allow  them  at 
rehearsals. 

CATHERINE.  (Pretending  to  be  offended)  Oh, 
this  is  a  rehearsal,  is  it  ? 

GARRICK.  Did  you  think  it  was  the  finished  per 
formance?  Ha  ha — Bless  your  sweet  innocence — • 
I  shall  do  this  so  much  better  for  you  some  day. 

CATHERINE.  (Withdrawing  her  hand)  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  this  kind  of  a  man,  David. 

GARRICK.  Nor  I  ? — You  see  what  a  demoralizing 
influence  you  are — now  I  suppose  you  mean  to  cast 
me  off — when  your  plain  duty  is  to  undo  the  mis 
chief  by  reforming  me. 

CATHERINE.  (Nursing  her  hand)  My  hand 
really  pains. 

GARRICK.  Of  course  it  does — never  be  easy 
again  until  you  give  it  to  me.  (Starts  to  regain  her 
hand) 

(Enter  servant  with  tea  and  pipes.) 

CATHERINE.    Don't 

GARRICK.  (As  servant  puts  tray  on  table)  An 
gels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us 

CATHERINE.    You  goose. 

GARRICK.  (As  servant  exit)  Look  where  it 
goes,  even  now,  out  at  the  portal. 

CATHERINE.  (Going)  Not  a  sincere  bone  in 
your  body. 

GARRICK.     Catherine.     (Exit  CATHERINE) 

(Enter  FEATHERSTONE  and  JOHNSON.) 
FEATHERSTONE.    Gentlemen,  the  tea. 


24  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

(Enter  KENRICK  and  CAPTAIN  HORNECK.  KEN- 
RICK  is  sinister — CAPTAIN  HORNECK  the 
brother  of  CATHERINE  and  MARY  is  the  frank 
young  Englishman.) 

CAPTAIN.  (Laughing)  Tell  that  to  Mr.  Gar- 
rick.  He'll  put  it  into  a  play. 

(Enter  BURKE.) 

GARRICK.     (Lighting  a  pipe  up  c.)     What  is  it? 

CAPTAIN.    Tell  it,  Kenrick. 

KENRICK.  (Producing  coin)  A  bad  guinea — • 
In  Fleet  Street  last  week  a  drab  of  a  woman  locked 
arms  with  me 

JOHNSON.  I  trust,  sir,  no  one  saw  the  poor  crea 
ture. 

KENRICK.  I  think  not.  I  couldn't  begin  to. 
(Laughs) 

BURKE.  And  you're  not  hard  to  please,  sir? 
(Takes  a  pipe) 

KENRICK.  No — but  I  had  this  bad  guinea  in  my 
pocket  so  I  said — "  render  to  Caesar,"  etc. 

JOHNSON.  (Rising)  Stop,  sir — I  won't  have  the 
gospel  lightly  quoted  in  my  hearing  to  embellish  the 
story  of  a  harlot 

KENRICK.  Is  that  gospel — I  associated  it  with 
the  "  Rambler  " — and  this  feminine  member  of  that 
fraternity  revived  it.  (Business  of  hard  hit  in 
pantomime  between  GARRICK  and  BURKE)  At  any 
rate  I  gave  her  the  guinea  to  be  rid  of  her.  Well, 
it  seems  she  knew  me;  and  blast  my  eyes  if  she 
didn't  turn  up  at  my  lodgings  the  next  day  with 
an  officer — swear  I'd  given  her  the  guinea  in  a  fair 
exchange  and  force  me  to  make  restitution — ha  ha. 
How  is  that?  (Throws  guinea  on  table) 

HORNECK.    I  say  good  for  a  play? 

GARRICK.  (Takes  coin  mechanically)  Very 
good  for  a  play  because  a  play's  all  counterfeit. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  25 

(Enter  servant  with  bowl  of  punch.  GARRICK 
plays  with  the  guinea  a  moment  and  with  KEN- 
RICK'S  consent  keeps  it.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  Here's  the  punch,  gentlemen. 
I  hope  you'll  take  charge  of  it,  Doctor  Johnson. 
(JOHNSON  stirs  punch) 

KENRICK.  Hear — hear — In  vino  veritas — Good 
liquor's  a  fine  thing  for  arriving  to  the  truth.  Isn't 
it,  Doctor  Johnson  ? 

JOHNSON.  Sir,  it  is.  If  a  man  must  keep  com 
pany  with  a  liar.  (Pause)  Mr.  Burke,  may  I  help 
you. 

BURKE.    After  that,  not  first,  sir. 

GARRICK.  (Tragically)  "I'll  cross  it  tho*  it 
blast  me."  (Takes  the  cup) 

(MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  and  CATHERINE  appear  on 
stairs.) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  May  we  come  too  if  we 
promise  to  be  very  good? 

GARRICK.     (Acting  the  Herald)    The  ladies. 

JOHNSON.  Madame!  Come!  We  beg  of  you. 
(Men  start  to  put  out  pipes) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Oh  no.  You  must  smoke, 
gentlemen.  I  like  it,  and  I  think  my  young  friends 
must  learn  to  do  the  same.  (Defers  to  the  girls) 

CAPTAIN.  (Laughing)  Why  bless  you,  gentle 
men,  my  sisters  are  as  used  to  the  smell  of  tobacco 
as  I  am  to  that  of  musk. 

GARRICK.  (In  general  appeal)  Can  one  go 
further? 

CAPTAIN.  (As  he  leads  them  down)  Where's 
Mary? 

CATHERINE.    Mary  will  join  us  immediately. 

(They  take  seats.) 


26  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Doctor  Johnson. 

JOHNSON.     Madame. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Mr.  Featherstone  has 
promised  us  that  you  are  to  read  some  verses  of 
Doctor  Goldsmith. 

CATHERINE.    Oh,  how  delightful. 

KENRICK.  You  evidently  haven't  heard  them, 
Miss  Catherine. 

CATHERINE.  You  dreadful  man.  Its  awful  to 
be  a  critic,  isn't  it,  Doctor  Johnson  ? 

JOHNSON.    Awful  is  not  the  word,  my  dear. 

BOSWELL.    How  would  you  define  a  critic? 

JOHNSON.  Sir,  a  critic  is  an  intellectual  capon, 
a  biped  who  gets  fat  because  it  produces  nothing. 

(KENRICK  affects  a  smile— BURKE  and  GARRICK 
exchange  looks — BOSWELL  makes  a  note.) 

(Enter  MARY.) 

FEATHERSTONE.    Miss  Mary,  we  are  waiting  for 

you. 

OMNES.     Miss  Mary. 

KENRICK.     Have  this  chair,  Miss  Mary? 

MARY.    Thank  you. 

KENRICK.  It  is  comfortable  to  sleep  in;  and 
Doctor  Johnson  is  going  to  read  some  verses. 

MRS   FEATHERSTONE.     By  Doctor  Goldsmith. 

CATHERINE.  Dear  Goldsmith,  I  think  he's  the 
homeliest  man  alive. 

KENRICK.  And  you  say  that  in  the  presence  of 
his  friend,  Doctor  Johnson.  (Turns  away  laugh 
ing) 

MARY.    I've  read  his  verses. 

JOHNSON.     The  Traveller? 

MARY.  Yes.  And  /  never  more  shall  think  Dr. 
Goldsmith  ugly.  , 

JOHNSON.      My    dear    girl— that    sentiment    ad- 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  27 

vances  your  entire  sex  in  the  good  opinion  of  the 
world. 

KENRICK.  Do  you  believe,  sir,  that  Goldsmith 
wrote  the  verses  himself? 

JOHNSON.     I  do. 

GARRICK.    And  I. 

BURKE.  And  let  me  tell  you  that's  believing  a 
great  deal. 

JOHNSON.  (Despairing)  Well,  have  all  heard 
them? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Not  I. 

CATHERINE.     Nor  I. 

FEATHERSTONE.    Nor  I. 

CAPTAIN.     Nor  I. 

BOSWELL.    Nor  have  I  heard  them. 

JOHNSON.  Very  well — (Begins  to  read)  "The 
Traveller :  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow 

H 

(Noise  in  hall.) 

OMNES.    Sh 

FEATHERSTONE.    Stop  that  noise,  Roger. 

(All  look  toward  L.  u.  E.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Outside)  The  best  room  in  the 
house,  mind  you,  and  something  hot  to  eat. 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Rising)  Why,  what  can  it  be? 
(ROGER  appears  at  the  door  smiling) 

GARRICK.  That's  Goldy's  voice.  Do  you  expect 
him? 

FEATHERSTONE.    No  sir.    Well,  Roger? 

ROGER.  (Suppressing  a  smile)  A  gentleman, 
sir,  has  mistook  the  house  for  an  inn. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    An  inn. 

ROGER.    He's  sending  his  cab  away. 

GARRICK.     (Quickly  and  with  eager  enjoyment) 
Small  gentleman — Irish, 
men? 


28  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

ROGER.    I  should  say  Irish,  sir. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Off)  Come,  come,  lad — here's 
my  bag.  Lend  a  hand  to  it. 

BURKE.  (Rapidly)  Oliver  Goldsmith  for  all 
the  world.  Do  you  know  him  ? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Why  no,  sir. 

BURKE.     (Running  to  door)    Go — keep  him • 

(ROGER  exit.) 

FEATHERSTONE.     (Indignantly)    An  inn! 

BURKE.  (Excitedly  at  the  door  up  L.)  It's  he. 
Now  don't  spoil  it — Don't  spoil  it.  For  Heaven's 
sake,  ladies,  leave  us  a  minute.  (General  move 
ment)  Gentlemen,  get  between  the  doors — all  but 
"landlord"  Featherstone.  (Laughter) 

FEATHERSTONE.     Landlord ! 

BURKE.  (Pleading)  A  chance  like  this  comes 
once  in  a  life  time.  It's  like — first  love,  or  repent 
ance. 

MARY.    Why,  it's  a  shame  to  play  a  joke  on  him. 

CATHERINE.  (Lightly)  Oh  come,  Mary. 
(Takes  her  to  stairs) 

BURKE.  Off  with  you,  Captain.  Get  out,  Davy 
(CAPTAIN  goes  i  E.  R.  GARRICK  goes  L.  to  JOHN 
SON)  Come,  sir — (Exit  I  L.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  (At  door)  Well,  quickly,  gen 
tlemen. 

JOHNSON.  (The  last  to  go,  reaches  door  I  L.) 
The  wrong  foot — (He  turns  back  a  few  paces  an 
noyed  with  this  characteristic  superstition) 

FEATHERSTONE.      (Warning)      Doctor — Doctor! 

JOHNSON.  (Counting)  Two,  three,  four — • 
(Reaches  doorway  where  GARRICK  meets  him) 

GARRICK.  "  Bad  luck  "  be  hanged.  (Pulls  him 
through  doorway) 

FEATHERSTONE.     Sir — Good-evening. 

GOLDSMITH.    (Appearing  in  doorway.    He  wears 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  29 

a  cape  coat,  a  cocked  hat,  and  carries  a  stick)  The 
Landlord  ? 

FEATHERSTONE.  This  is  my  place,  sir — I  hope  it 
pleases  you. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Surveying  the  room)  Pleases  me 
— Well  it  should,  sir.  I've  never  seen  a  more  cosy 
tavern  in  my  life.  It  must  have  been  some  gentle 
man's  place  before  you  got  it. 

FEATHERSTONE.  You're  right  there,  sir.  It  was 
a  gentleman's  place.  (ROGER  brings  GOLDSMITH'S 
bag) 

GOLDSMITH.  Put  it  there.  (ROGER  sets  the  bag 
down  back  of  table)  What's  this — Punch. 

(Exit  ROGER.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  (L.  c.)  I  have  other  guests,  sir, 
and  they  ordered;  but  you're  welcome. 

GOLDSMITH.  Thank  you.  Damme,  you're  not  an 
Englishman,  are  you  ? 

FEATHERSTONE.    I  am  an  Englishman,  sir. 

GOLDSMITH.  You  should  have  been  born  in  Ire 
land.  You  have  the  generosity  of  one  of  her  un 
fortunate  sons — but  your  hand,  sir.  Englishman 
or  no  Englishman.  Landlord  or  no  Landlord, 
you're  a  man;  and  hang  me  I'd  kiss  a  Turk  if  he 
had  in  his  face  the  milk  o'  human  kindness  that's  in 
yours — Whisper — They  make  a  gentleman  of  me, 
but  damme  I'd  rather  be  a  man — join  me.  (They 
drink) 

FEATHERSTONE.    Thank  you,  sir. 

BURKE.  (In  the  doorway.  To  GARRICK)  Don't 
laugh  at  him,  David.  Hang  me,  but  he  rings  true 
as  steel. 

GOLDSMITH.  Now,  sir,  I'd  like  a  bite — You've 
dined  yourself? 

FEATHERSTONE.     This  hour,  sir.      (Crosses  R.) 

GOLDSMITH.     You're  married,  of  course.     (Sits) 


3o  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

FEATHERSTONE.    Of  course,  sir. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Expansively)  To  be  sure — It 
gives  respectability  to  the  place. 

FEATHERSTONE.  In  fact,  sir,  I'm  married  twice 
and  living  now  with  my  second  wife. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Rising)  Your  hand.  (They 
shake  hands)  I  consider  a  second  marriage  the 
triumph  of  hope — over  experience. 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Aside)  I  hope  Sarah  didn't 
hear  that. 

GOLDSMITH.  Then  I  trust  your  lady  will  sit  with 
us. 

FEATHERSTONE.  Twill  be  an  honor,  sir.  (Go 
ing)  I'll  order.  (Exit  i  R.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Alone)  Failed!  Failed  as  a  mis 
erable  carpenter  of  human  anatomy !  'M !  Not 
food  enough  to  sign  death  certificates  on  an  East 
ndian  steamer.  Ah  well  it's  fate.  It's  fate.  I'm 
trying  to  run  away  from  Mary — from  Mary  Hor- 
neck  and  'twas  a  cowardly  device.  Sure  she 
brought  me  safe  to  pot  with  one  smile  of  her  angel 
face  and  I'll  stand  me  broiling  as  any  game  bird 
should. 

(Re-enter  FEATHERSTONE.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  It's  mostly  cold,  sir — but  such 
as  it  is  I  think  'twill  please  you,  sir.  (He  consults 
a  seeming  menu) 

GOLDSMITH.    Let's  have  it. 

FEATHERSTONE.  For  the  first  course;  "pig  and 
prune  sauce." 

GOLDSMITH.  To  a  man  that  is  hungry,  pig  and 
prune  sauce  is  good  eating. 

FEATHERSTONE.  Then  there  is  "  pork  pie  " — a 
"  boiled  rabbit  and  sausage  " — a  "  shaking  pudding 
and  taffety  cream." 

GOLDSMITH.     (With  unction)    It  sounds  like  the 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  31 

wedding  breakfast  at  Elsinor — Send  me  what  you 
please,  sir,  but  be  sure  my  bed  is  well  aired. 
FEATHERSTONE.     Yes,  sir. 

(Enter  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  at  stairs.) 

GOLDSMITH.  And  look  you,  landlord,  I'd  as  lief 
fast  as  eat  alone  myself.  Won't  you  and  your  lady 
sit  with  me? 

FEATHERSTONE.  I  thank  you,  sir — Oh  my  wife 
is  here.  The  name  please  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    Goldsmith,  sir. 

FEATHERSTONE.  Goldsmith?  Surely  not  Dr. 
Oliver  Goldsmith. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Pleased)  Yes,  sir.  Doctor 
Oliver  Goldsmith.  You  know  of  me? 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Tries  to  remember)  We  know 
The  Traveller,  sir.  "  Remote,  unfriendly,  some 
thing,  something  slow." 

GOLDSMITH.  Well  not  so  slow  as  that — still  you 
read — and  you  are  my  guests — Madam,  your  ser 
vant — (Bows) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Dr.  Goldsmith.  (Bows. 
Apart  to  FEATHERSTONE)  He  is  ugly,  isn't  he? 
(FEATHERSTONE  motions  caution) 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Fixing  chair)  Here,  my  dear, 
since  Doctor  Goldsmith  honors  us — (MRS.  FEATH 
ERSTONE  sits) 

(Enter  servant  with  supper.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  I  have  other  guests  to-night,  sir. 
In  fact,  my  poor  house  is  rather  put  to  it  for  ca 
pacity. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  sir,  I  called  for  the  best  room 
in  the  house — but  don't  let  it  worry  you.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  Fve  slept  many  a  night  in  a  garret — 
so  there. 


32  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Oh  we  shan't  put  you  in 
the  garret,  sir. 

(Enter  BURKE.) 

BURKE.  (With  affected  surprise)  Why  bless 
me  if  it  isn't  Nolly  Goldsmith. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Rising  in  glee)  Burke !  Ned 
Burke — why  of  all  the  men  in  the  world — (Shakes 
his  hand  and  pats  his  back  affectionately)  To  think 
I  find  you.  (To  FEATHERSTONE)  I'd  rather  you 
gave  me  the  garret,  landlord.  'Twill  be  near  the 
roof  that  shelters  Ned  Burke — (Again  shakes 
BURKE'S  hand) 

BURKE.  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Noll.  (Half  em 
braces  him) 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  Landlord  in  fine  display)  The 
same  school  together.  He's  Irish  himself.  Burke's 
his  name.  Did  he  tell  you  ? 

FEATHERSTONE.  I  heard  it,  sir,  from  one  of  his 
party. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Turning  to  BURKE)  Party? 
Then  you're  not  alone,  Ned? 

BURKE.     (Apologetically)     A  few  friends. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Cast  down)  What  a  pity.  We'd 
Ja  made  a  night  of  it.  I've  just  had  the  worst  luck, 
Ned.  Sit  down  and  share  me  banquet.  (They  sit) 

BURKE.    Bad  luck,  Noll  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Failed  at  a  Doctor's  examination — • 
for  East  Indian  service — He  says  I've  a  liver  and 
lungs  and  a  number  of  other  organs  that  are  not 
active. 

BURKE.    Well,  that  is  bad  luck. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Changing  manner)  And  I've 
some  good  luck  too.  My  picture  is  in  the  windows 
of  all  the  print  shops.  Have  you  seen  it,  Ned? 
(To  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.)  By  Joshua  Reynolds — • 
Have  you  bought  an  engraving?  (Again  to  BURKE) 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  33 

BURKE.  Well  I  haven't  bought  it,  Noll,  but  I 
know  where  to  hang  it  when  I  do. 

GOLDSMITH.  Ah,  Ned,  Ned — (Rises — to  MRS. 
FEATHERSTONE)  if  there  was  a  picture  of  Edmund 
Burke,  I  should  not  have  waited  an  hour  without 
having  it.  (In  quick  recovery)  But  there — I've 
much  better  than  a  picture.  I've  Ned  himself. 
(Pausing)  No,  I  forgot  your  friends.  Who  are 

BURKE.  Why,  Noll — quite  a  party.  Boys  from 
the  club. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Again  elated)  From  the  club— 
what  luck — who  are  they  ?  Beauclerk 

BURKE.    No ;  but  Johnson 

GOLDSMITH.      (Rising)     Johnson — where  is  he? 

BURKE.    And — and  Bossy. 

GOLDSMITH.  Bossy,  of  course,  if  ye  have  John 
son. 

BURKE.    And  Davy  Garrick. 

GOLDSMITH.     (More  quietly)     Garrick! 

BURKE.  (Noting  his  change  of  manner)  Non 
sense,  Noll — That's  all  over,  isn't  it  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  With  me  of  course — only  he's  stiff 
as  buckram. 

BURKE.    He  won't  be  now,  I  promise  you. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well  let's  lose  no  time.  (Goes 
down  R.)  Who  thinks  of  eating  when  such  spirits 
are  by.  Call  them  in.  (Introduces  FEATHERSTONE) 
The  landlord,  Ned;  and  his  wife.  I've  asked  them 
to  sit  with  me.  You  don't  mind.  (Anxiously) 

BURKE.    Why  not  at  all. 

GOLDSMITH.  I'll  not  slape  in  the  garret.  I'll  not 
slape  at  all.  We'll  make  a  night  of  it,  eh ?  (Crosses 
upc.) 

BURKE.    If  the  ladies  don't  object. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Looks  to  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE) 
Ladies? — Is  there  a  daughter? 

BURKE.  Ladies  with  us.  Captain  Horneck  has 
brought  his  sisters. 


34  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Pause  and  complete  change  of 
manner)  Mary  ? 

BURKE.     Both  of  them. 

GOLDSMITH.     But  Mary? 

BURKE.    Mary  of  course ;  and  Catherine. 

GOLDSMITH.  God  bless  me.  It's  fate  that  brings 
me  here.  Is  me  wig  on  straight? 

(JOHNSON  and  GARRICK  enter  L.  I  arm  in  arm.) 
GARRICK.     (Reciting) 

Stern  o'er  each  bosom  reason  holds  her  state ; 
With  daring  aims  irregularly  great, 
I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by, 
Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Aside)  My  verses — How  beauti 
ful! 

JOHNSON.    (Pretending  surprise)    Ah  Goldy • 

GOLDSMITH.  Doctor — (Eagerly  shaking  hands) 
Mr.  Garrick !  (Shakes  hands) 

JOHNSON.    This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure. 

GOLDSMITH.  The  merest  chance.  I  stopped  for 
the  night  at  a  ramshackle  place  below — and  I  said 
to  the  cabby  "  You  rascal,  take  me  to  the  best  house 
in  the  town." 

GARRICK.    Well,  he  did  it. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Expansively)  And  the  best 
spirits. 

GARRICK.    You've  tried  the  punch  then  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  No,  but  I  will.  Ned  tells  me  you've 
ladies  too. 

GARRICK.    That's  right;  two. 

(Enter  BOSWELL,  HORNECK  and  KENRICK.) 
GOLDSMITH.    Captain,  Horned^  your  servant. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  35 

CAPTAIN.  You  know  Mr.  Kenrick,  Doctor  Gold 
smith  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    Of  the  reviews? 

KENRICK.     Occasionally — in  an  anonymous  way. 

JOHNSON.  Sir.  Mr.  Kenrick  is  one  of  those  who 
make  themselves  public  without  making  themselves 
known. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Apart  to  BURKE  with  some  un 
easiness)  One  of  the  party? 

BURKE.     (Lightly)     Oh  yes. 

(Enter  CATHERINE  and  MARY.) 

CATHERINE.     Good  evening,  Doctor. 

GOLDSMITH.  Why  my  "  Little  Comedy  " — and — 
Miss  Mary — — 

MARY.    Doctor  Goldsmith ! 

GOLDSMITH.  (Apart)  Tell  me,  my  dear  lady, 
what  is  the  occasion  for  this  gathering? 

MARY.  Well  truly — but  it  will  make  you  vain, 
sir. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Shaking  head)  It  comes  too  late 
— I've  had  your  frindship. 

MARY.    Why  then — to  hear  your  verses. 

GOLDSMITH.  Ah,  ah,  how  could  you  know  I'd 
be  here. 

MARY.  To  be  read  I  mean — Dr.  Johnson  is  to 
read  them  to  us. 

GOLDSMITH.    But  why  here? 

MARY.     Mr.  Featherstone  invited  us. 

GOLDSM  ITH  .    Featherstone  ? 

MARY.    Our  host. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Looking  around  at  FEATHER- 
STONE)  What  a  remarkable  man.  (Pause)  Still 
my  own  father  was  only  a  clergyman. 

MARY.     He  was  more,  sir. 

GOLDSMITH.    More? 

MARY.    Yes,  Dr.  Goldsmith,  he  was  your  father. 


36  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  He  was — and  of  seven  more  besides 
— (MARY  turns  away  smiling)  But  faith  the 
church  paid  him  better. 

JOHNSON.  (Rapping  on  table)  Dr.  Goldsmith 
— Dr.  Goldsmith,  sir! 

GOLDSMITH.     Sir,  to  you,  Doctor  Johnson. 

GARRICK.    Who's  for  "  Poonsh  "- 

JOHNSON.  (After  a  withering  look)  I  don't  say 
"  Poonsh." 

GOLDSMITH.  Call  it  what  you  will.  (Feels  in 
pocket)  One  may  summon  spirits  from  the  vasty 
deep — but  will  they  come?  (Looks  at  coin  in  hand 
with  consternation) 

MARY.    What  is  it,  Doctor? 

GOLDSMITH.  A  shilling — (Feels  in  other  pockets) 
I  was  going  to  call  for  another  bowl  of  punch  but  I 
gave  that  cab  driver  a  guinea.  (Pause)  Yes — I 
did.  (Regards  the  shilling) 

BURKE.     (Looking  about)    What  cab  driver? 

GOLDSMITH.  The  man  that  fetched  me — no  mat 
ter.  (Tosses  off  his  disappointment)  My  only  re 
gret.  (Looking  at  MARY)  is  that  it  wasn't  ten 
guineas;  for  the  pleasure  is  cheaply  purchased. 

MARY.    You  meant  to  give  him  a  shilling  instead  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Among  others,  yes — but  no  matter, 
a  discerning  Providence  put  the  gold  where  'twould 
do  the  most  good. 

MARY.  Perhaps  he's  an  honest  man  and  may  re 
turn  it.  (Start  by  GARRICK  and  gesture  of  silence 
to  others) 

(GARRICK  tiptoes  out  unseen  by  GOLDSMITH.) 

BURKE.    Perhaps  our  host — will  trust  you,  Noll. 

GOLDSMITH.  Right!  he  may.  (To  FEATHER- 
STONE)  If  my  friends  here  guarantee  my  fair 
character. 

FEATHERSTONE.    Why,  surely. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  37 

CATHERINE.    Which  we  do  gladly,  Doctor. 

OMNES.    Yes,  we  do. 

GOLDSMITH.  Then  look  sharp,  my  good  man  and 
don't  spare  the  liquor — (FEATHERSTONE  starts  off) 
Be  quick  about  it — for  Doctor  Johnson's  going  to 
read  to  us.  (Pause  as  he  regards  MRS.  FEATHER- 
STONE)  Madam  it  seems  to  me  we  have  met  be 
fore? 

(Exit  FEATHERSTONE.) 

MARY.  (MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  nods  and  smiles) 
Mrs.  Featherstone  is  occasionally  of  the  Covent 
Garden  Theatre.  "  Mrs.  Hughes  "  on  the  bills. 

BOSWELL.  Played  Mistress  Croaker  in  your  Good 
Natured  Man. 

GOLDSMITH.  Sure — sure — but  youVe  grown 
more  plump.  I  heard  you  were  married — but  I 
never  knew  to  an  innkeeper. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Smilingly  changing  sub 
ject)  I've  heard  at  the  theatre  that  we  may  have 
another  play  from  your  pen. 

GOLDSMITH.  I  have  all  the  material — characters 
• — everything,  but  a  story  to  carry  it,  and  hang  me 
but  my  thick  wits  won't  make  even  the  start  at  a 
story. 

JOHNSON.  Doctor  Goldsmith,  the  reading  of 
your  poem  has  been  once  interrupted  to-night ;  and 
whether  we  read  it  or  not,  I  take  this  occasion  to 
say  that  it's  the  finest  poem  that  has  appeared  since 
the  day  of  Pope. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Impressively  taking  his  hand) 
Sir — I'd  rather  have  you  say  that,  than  have  it 
from  any  other  man  that  lives. 

OMNES.    Good,  good. 

GOLDSMITH.  (In  undertone  to  JOHNSON)  And 
I'd  rather  that  girl  heard  you  (Nodding  toward 
MARY)  than  have  a  thousand  pounds. 


38  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

CATHERINE.    Doctor — Doctor  Johnson. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Prompting)  Doctor.  (Calls  his 
attention  to  CATHERINE) 

JOHNSON.    Pardon,  miss. 

CATHERINE.  Mrs.  Featherstone  tells  me  there  is 
a  new  portrait  by  Mr.  Reynolds  in  the  music  room. 

JOHNSON.    I  should  like  to  see  it. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  You  think  him  our  best, 
do  you  not,  Doctor? 

JOHNSON.  (Taking  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE'S  arm 
and  going)  Quite.  I  have  only  one  suggestion  to 
the  improvement  of  Joshua  Reynolds.  (BoswELL 
attends)  I  wish  he  would  read  his  bible  and  never 
use  his  pencil  on  Sunday. 

(Exit  with  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE,  BOSWELL  follows.} 

CATHERINE.  (Going  with  BURKE  and  hiding  her 
mirth)  Do  you  really  think  he  mistakes  it  for  an 
inn? 

BURKE.  Beyond  a  doubt.  I  went  to  school  with 
him,  and  you  may  be  sure  if  there's  a  wrong  way 
to  anything  Nolly  Goldsmith'll  take  it.  (Exit  with 
CATHERINE) 

CAPTAIN.  (To  GOLDSMITH  who  is  disposed  to 
wait  for  MARY)  Oh,  she'll  come  with  Kenrick. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Yielding  and  following)  A  bad 
face — a  bad  face. 

CAPTAIN.  Well — some  people  think  Mary  very 
pretty • 

GOLDSMITH.  Hang  it,  man — I  mean  Kenrick's 
face.  (Exit  with  CAPTAIN  who  is  chaffing  him) 

KENRICK.  (Who  has  affected  to  follow  with 
MARY — interposes)  I  was  to  have  your  answer  to 
night. 

MARY.     (With  dignity)     I  have  given  it. 

KENRICK.    Refused ! 

MARY.  No.  Simply  not  permitted  to  offer.  It's 
a  subject  forbidden  between  you  and  me.  (Starts) 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  39 

MARY.    Let  us  join  the  others,  please! 

KENRICK.     (Meaningly)     There's  a  great  service 
dependent  upon  your  answer. 

MARY.    What  service? 

KENRICK.      (Nodding    off)      It    concerns    your 
brother,  Captain  Horneck 

MARY.     (Pause)     Well 

KENRICK.    It  concerns  your  mother — it  is  a  mat 
ter  that  affects  even  your  sister,  and  yourself. 

MARY.     What  is  it?    You  approach  it  so  warily, 
Mr.  Kenrick,  that  you  force  me  to  distrust. 

KENRICK.     It  concerns  your  father's — reputation 
• — his  memory. 

MARY.  Do  you  attack  the  reputation  of  dead  men  ? 

KENRICK.    I  would  defend  them? 

MARY.    And  my  father's  memory  needs  defense? 

KENRICK.     (Pause)     Seriously. 

MARY.    I  don't  believe  you. 

KENRICK.    You  must 

MARY.     What  does  my  brother  say? 

KENRICK.     I  haven't  told  him. 

MARY.    Why  not  ? 

KENRICK.    The  charge  too  nearly  affects  himself. 

MARY.    You  must  speak  more  definitely. 

KENRICK.     The  money  that  bought  Charlie  his 
commission 

MARY.    Well? 

KENRICK.     The  funds  that  purchased  the  home 
in  which  your  mother  lives 

MARY.    What  of  it — quick ! 

KENRICK.     A — a   misappropriation   of   a   trust, 
given  into  your  father's  keeping. 

MARY.     (Indignant)     A  falsehood — a  base  and 
cowardly  falsehood. 
*    KENRICK.    So  /  believe — so  I  would  prove 

MARY.    My  brother  will  do  that. 

KENRICK.    He  can't — he  is  not  in  a  position  to  do 

KENRICK.     (Again  interposing)     Mary. 


40  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

so.  The  mere  publication  of  this  charge  would  put 
upon  him  the  obligation  of  selling  his  commission 
to  restore  this  money 

MARY.  What  of  that — he  is  young  and  coura 
geous. 

KENRICK.    And  very  proud 

MARY.    Yes,  with  pride  of  the  right  kind. 

KENRICK.  Why  force  him  from  his  regiment^ 
from  his  clubs — from  his  associates — it  will  put 
your  mother  out  of  her  home — it  will  be  even  an  in 
superable  blight  upon  yourself. 

MARY.    But  it  is  false. 

KENRICK.  So — So  I  believe — Yet  false  accusa 
tions  leave  scars  scarcely  less  indelible  than  true 
ones.  I  want  to  stop  even  the  printing  of  this—I 
want  to  go  to  the  proprietor  of  the  magazine  who  is 
debating  their  publication,  and  with  whom  I  have 
business  relation  and  pressure,  and  I  want  to  say  to 
him — One  of  these  young  ladies  is  to  be  my  wife — 

MARY.     (Agitated)     No— no 

KENRICK.  Even  though  she  never  becomes  my 
wife — I  want  the  right  which  the  promise  gives • 

MARY.  I  cannot — If  you  are  honest — if  you  be 
lieve  this  calumny  is  malicious 

(Enter  GOLDSMITH.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Noting  the  girl's  agitation  and  her 
company)  Mary ! 

KENRICK.  (Pause)  Miss  Horneck  is  not  feeling 
well. 

GOLDSMITH.    What's  the  matter? 

MARY.    Nothing  before  these  people. 

(Exit  KENRICK.) 

GOLDSMITH.  It's  mighty  strange.  I  start  out  on 
a  journey,  to  run  away  from  my  own  thought  of 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  41 

certain  people,  and — plump!  I  find  myself  face  to 
face  with  them.  Why,  it's  like  something  in  a 
nightmare. 

MARY.  Oh,  I  hope  you  don't  call  meeting  old 
friends  a  nightmare,  Doctor? 

GOLDSMITH.  That's  my  blunder  in'  tongue.  You 
know  what  I  mane. 

MARY.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  had 
taken  a  journey  to  get  away  from  some  people,  and 
you  come  to  the  end  of  your  journey,  and  there 
they  are  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    That's  it. 

MARY.    Who  are  they? 

GOLDSMITH.  (Embarrassed)  Well — well — cer 
tain  people  I  was  thinkin'  of  too  much  entirely. 

MARY.    Dr.  Johnson? 

GOLDSMITH.    Well,  not  exactly  Johnson. 

MARY.    Burke  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    Why,  Burke's  me  brother. 

MARY.     Garrick  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    Oh,  I  like  Garrick. 

MARY.    Then,  which  of  the  gentlemen  is  it? 

GOLDSMITH.    It's  no  gentleman  at  all. 

MARY.  A  woman!  Oh!  But  you  don't  know 
Mrs.  Featherstone. 

GOLDSMITH.     No — God  bless  me  it's  yourself. 

MARY.    You  were  running  away  from  me  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  From  thinkin'  of  you.  Don't  turn 
away.  Why,  your  own  mother  never  laid  you  to 
rest  in  yer  cradle  with  half  the  tenderness  and  care 
of  me  boldest  thoughts,  whenever  they  touched  your 
swate  image. 

MARY.    But  you  "  ran  away." 

GOLDSMITH.    I  did. 

MARY.    Why  was  that? 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  I'm  more  kinds  of  a  failure 
than  one  woman  could  stand.  I'm  no  Doctor,  and 
no  lawyer,  and  no  musician  at  all.  I  know,  because 


42  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

I've  tried  all  three  o'  thim.  I  think  I'm  a  poet,  whin 
I  drame  of  you,  and  thin  I  get  a  peep  at  a  lookin' 
glass,  and  I'm  only  a  shoemaker. 

MARY.  And  there's  a  picture  of  you  in  all  the 
print  shops  of  London. 

GOLDSMITH.    There  is?    May  I  send  you  one? 

MARY.    Yes. 

GOLDSMITH.    Thank  you. 

MARY.    But  I  have  one  already. 

GOLDSMITH.    Of  me? 

MARY.    Of  you,  Dr.  Goldsmith. 

GOLDSMITH.     In  the  parlor. 

MARY.    No. 

GOLDSMITH.     (Subdued)    Oh! 

MARY.    In  my  own  room. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Elated)  Mary — Mary — (Pause) 
Of  course,  it's  just  the  picture  of  your  old  friend 
that  went  with  you  on  your  tour  to  Paris,  eh  ? 

MARY.    It  is  an  old  friend,  of  course. 

GOLDSMITH.  D'ye  think  it  could  be  more?  D'ye 
think  if  me  book  was  to  sell — and  I'd  really  write  a 
play — and  I'd  stand  up  straight  and  take  dancin' 
lessons — (He  looks  at  his  awkward  legs) 

MARY.     (Pause)    Well? 

GOLDSMITH.  Oh,  I  wish  there  wasn't  a  lookin' 
glass  in  the  world.  Mary !  In  a  matter  of  beauty, 
could  ye  take  the  will  for  the  dade?  There's  a 
divil's  own  lot  in  good  nature.  Could  ye,  Mary,  if  I 
were  to  ask  ye? 

MARY.     But  don't  ask  me  any  more — now 

(Enter  CAPTAIN,  JOHNSON  and  CATHERINE.) 

JOHNSON.  (Importing  the  conversation)  I 
know  of  no  man  who  passes  through  life  with  more 
observation  than  Reynolds. 

(Enter  BOSWELL,  BURKE  and  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE. 
ROGER  appears  at  door  back.) 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  43 

ROGER.  If  you  please,  'mam,  a  cabman  to  see  the 
last  gentleman. 

(Enter  FEATHERSTONE  with  punch  R.  i.) 
GOLDSMITH.    To  see — me?    (Goes  to  door  up  L.) 

(Enter  GARRICK  as  cabman.  The  improvised 
makeup  is  complete  and  the  acting  deceives 
all.) 

GARRICK.  A  gentleman  gi'  me  a  guinea — I  think 
by  mistake.  (He  speaks  a  broad  cockney) 

GOLDSMITH.  I  did — but — faith,  man,  I  never  ex 
pected  to  see  it  back.  (To  others)  Look  ye — it's 
among  the  poor  that  honor  has  the  surest  hold. 

GARRICK.  (Offering  guinea)  But  I'd  like  the 
shilling  the  gentleman  meant  to  give  me. 

GOLDSMITH.  Tis  here;  my  last.  Ned,  lend  me 
another — Honesty  like  this  must  not  go  unrecog 
nized. 

( BURKE  gives  a  shilling.) 

KENRICK.    Here.     (Giving  a  coin) 
GOLDSMITH.    Good — a  collection. 

'(GARRICK  discloses  himself  to  the  others  excepting 
JOHNSON  as  GOLDSMITH'S  back  is  turned.) 

CAPTAIN.    Take  mine.     (Gives  a  shilling) 
GOLDSMITH.     Come,  Doctor,  a  sixpence  anyway. 
JOHNSON.     (Who  did  not  see  GARRICK)     Yes — 

(Contributes  sixpence) 

GOLDSMITH.     Mr.  Boswell 

BOSWELL.     What  did  Dr.  Johnson  give? 
GOLDSMITH.     Sixpence.     ( BOSWELL  contributes) 

Now  where's  Mr.  Gar  rick? 


44  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

BURKE.    Yes,  where  is  Garrick? 
JOHNSON.     (Calling)     Davy!  Davy! 

( BURKE  privately  informs  JOHNSON  of  the  comedy 
being  played.) 

GOLDSMITH.  Never  mind.  Give  me  a  shilling 
for  him,  Captain,  and  we'll  make  him  repay  you 
when  he  joins  us. 

(CAPTAIN  gives  another  piece.) 

FEATHERSTONE.    Let  me  give  a  shilling  also. 

GOLDSMITH.  Not  at  all,  man,  you're  keeping  a 
public  house  and  work  hard  enough  yourself. 
(Suppressed  laughter  all  around  as  GOLDSMITH 
goes  to  GARRICK)  There,  my  good  fellow,  take 
that,  and  always  remember  that  virtue,  and  an  easy 
conscience  are  better  than  riches. 

GARRICK.  God  bless  you,  sir.  There's  a  new 
babby  at  'ome — an*  my  old  woman'll  be  glad  to  call 
it  after  you,  sir.  May  I  ask  your  name  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  (Thoughtfully)  Then  call  it 
Burke. 

GARRICK.    Burke. 

GOLDSMITH.  Aye,  Edmund  Burke — God  bless 
you.  (Pats  GARRICK  on  back  and  puts  him  out) 
I  couldn't  help  it,  Ned.  I'd  call  my  own  boy  after 
you,  if  ever  Heaven  sent  me  one,  and  I  was  mar 
ried  but — I  think  that's — (Nodding  toward  door) — • 
the  nearest  I'll  ever  come  to  being  a  father. 

JOHNSON.  (Meaningly)  That  cabby  was  as  fine 
a  character  as  I  ever  saw. 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  MARY)  Ah,  ha — he  was  poor 
— and  honest — and  that's  recommendation  enough 
for  Sam  Johnson.  (Goes  aside  to  MARY.  The  com 
pany  one  and  all  are  moved  by  GOLDSMITH'S  truth) 

JOHNSON.     (Pause)    Shall  we  read? 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  45 

GOLDSMITH.     My  verses,  Doctor? 
JOHNSON.     Yes,  sir — but  where  is  David  Gar- 
rick? 

X GOLDSMITH   engrossed  in  talk.     Enter  GARRICK. 
He  has  dropped  his  disguise.) 

GARRICK.    Here,  sir. 

BURKE.     You're  a  devil,  Davy. 

GARRICK.  (Gleefully  showing  silver)  Five  shill 
ing. 

GOLDSMITH.  Oh,  Mr.  Garrick — a  poor  cabman 
was  here — brought  me  a  guinea  I  gave  him  by  mis 
take  for  a  bob.  We  took  up  a  collection  because  of 
his  honesty,  and  Captain  Horneck  put  in  a  shilling 
for  you. 

GARRICK.  Thank  you,  Captain.  Let's  see  the 
guinea. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Indicating  CAPTAIN)  I  told  him 
you'd  make  it  good!  (Hands  guinea  to  GARRICK. 
It  is  the  one  GARRICK  first  had  from  KENRICK) 

GARRICK.  Of  course — but  see  here,  this  guinea's 
bad. 

GOLDSMITH.    What's  that  you  say? 

GARRICK.  (Throws  it  on  the  table  where  it  rings 
'dull)  Counterfeit. 

GOLDSMITH.  Counterfeit ! !  (All  laugh  but 
GOLDSMITH.  Pause)  And  I  named  his  baby  Ned 
Burke.  (Apologetically — to  BURKE — others  laugh 
again) 

BURKE.  (Consoling  GOLDSMITH)  No  matter — I 
<iare  say  the  baby's  a  counterfeit,  too.  (Another 
laugh) 

GOLDSMITH.  (At  the  punch  and  serving  it) 
Well,  let's  forget  'em.  The  poor  man  himself  was 
real — The  punch,  thank  Heaven,  is  real — Our  good, 
landlord  is  real — love  and  friendship  are  real — and 
that's  all  the  world. 


46  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

JOHNSON.  (With  tolerant  admiration)  Yes, 
Goldy,  everything's  as  real  as  your  wonderful  im 
agination  can  make  it.  (General  laugh.  All  take 
seats.  As  the  noise  subsides,  the  voice  of  a  woman 
singing  in  the  street  is  heard.  About  to  read) 
Well,  now  what's  that? 

GARRICK.    A  street  singer. 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Calling)  Roger — send  that 
woman  away. 

GOLDSMITH.  No — there's  distress  in  that  voice 
or  I  never  heard  it.  Excuse  me  a  minute.  (Exit) 

CATHERINE.    What's  he  going  to  do  ? 

KENRICK.    Give  her  that  bad  guinea. 

(Several  laugh.    Singing  ceases.) 

JOHNSON.     (With  book)  Shall  we  wait  for  him? 

MARY  and  OTHERS.    Oh,  yes ! 

JOHNSON.  See  here,  Davy — give  me  back  my 
sixpence. 

GARRICK.  (Jingling  the  money)  Not  at  all — 
You've  had  a  private  performance  for  what  you 
usually  pay  to  enter  the  pit.  (Laughter) 

JOHNSON.  (Nodding  toward  GARRICK)  He  be 
gan  the  world  with  great  hunger  for  money.  The 
son  of  a  half  pay  officer. 

GARRICK.  Half  pay !  I  see.  That  explains  your 
sixpence. 

(ROGER  enters  and  gets  bag.) 

FEATHERSTONE.    What's  that,  Roger? 

ROGER.  Dr.  Goldsmith's  bag — he  gave  that 
poor  woman  his  coat — (Exit  with  bag) 

OMNES.    His  coat!! 

BURKE.  (Smiling)  At  school  once,  when  he  had 
nothing  himself  he  gave  a  suit  of  mine  to  a  beggar — • 
(Laughter) — and  I've  loved  him  ever  since. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  47 

GARRICK.  Let's  make  him  confess.  (Exit  with 
BURKE) 

JOHNSON.  It's  a  pity  Goldsmith  isn't  knowing — • 
He'd  never  keep  his  knowledge  from  the  world. 

(Enter  BURKE  and  GARRICK  with  GOLDSMITH  be 
tween  them,  trying  to  get  a  coat  from  his  bag.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (In  his  shirt-sleeves')  Ladies,  your 
pardon.  Ned,  it's  not  fair  play.  I'll  trouble  "you, 
landlord,  to  show  me  my  room.  (Laughter) 

BURKE.  (With  his  arm  about  him)  Landlord! 
Why,  you  dear  old  goose,  Noll — This  isn't  a  tavern. 
(Laughter) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Abashed)  Not  an  inn?  (Laugh 
ter  by  all) 

JOHNSON.  (Introducing  FEATHERSTONE)  This 
is  William  Featherstone,  Esquire,  of  Blackheath 
Manor. 

FEATHERSTONE.  And  most  delighted,  Doctor,  to 
have  you  honor  my  poor  house. 

BURKE.  (Reversing  GOLDSMITH'S  wig)  Now, 
bow  to  the  gentlemen.  (Laughter) 

GOLDSMITH.  (In  the  hush  that  his  plight  pro 
duces)  ^  Ned — Ned — my  old  schoolfellow,  you  let 
me  be  ridiculous — before  this  company!  (He  looks 
away  from  MARY) 

(A  murmur  of  sympathy  and  deprecation.  MARY 
impulsively  steps  forward  to  champion  him — • 
GARRICK  playfully  restrains  her.  BURKE  has 
his  arm  apologetically  and  comfortingly  about 
his  old  friend.) 


CURTAIN. 


48  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE: — The  theatre  of  the  present  day  with  cur* 
tain  down. 

DISCOVERED:— In  stage  lox  R.  accessible  to 
stage,  JOHNSON,  CATHERINE,  MARY,  BOSWELL, 
The  Covent  Garden  Leader  in  dress  of  period 
is  in  Conductor's  chair  in  the  musician's  pit. 
"  PROPS,"  a  boy,  comes  from  back  of  curtain 
and  sets  candle  footlights  and  lights  them  by 
extra  candle. 

LEADER.    What  are  we  waiting  for,  Props? 

PROPS.  Wytin'  for  a  plai.  This  bloomin'  rot 
wouldn't  go  if  it  was  melted. 

JOHNSON.  (Ponderously)  What  does  the  boy 
say?  Why  do  we  wait? 

PROPS.  Oh,  you  can  gow  if  you  wants  to  Gov 
ernor.  (Dances  a  step  or  two  impertinently) 
Hit'll  be  an  awful  blow  of  course  but  we'll  try  an' 
bear  up,  don't  you  know  ?  (Dances  a  step)  ^ 

JOHNSON.  (Leaning  from  box  with  his  cane) 
Why  you  impertinent  young  spawn  of  the  kennel — • 

BOSWELL.     (Rising)     I'll  have  you  discharged. 

JOHNSON.  (To  BOSWELL)  Keep  still,  sir. 
(Curtain  goes  up — PROPS  retires — To  boy)  Do  you 
know  to  whom  you  are  speaking — to  whom 

(On  stage  at  back  are  BURKE,  GOLDSMITH, 
PROMPTER,  MR.  QUIRK  and  MRS.  FEATHER- 
STONE.) 

PROMPTER.    Sh — sh 

(PROPS  disappears.    GOLDSMITH  comes  down.    He 
carries  a  manuscript.) 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  49 

LEADER.  Dr.  Goldsmith,  sir — about  that  song 

GOLDSMITH.  (Wearily)  Not  now.  (Ap 
proaches  box) 

MARY.    What  is  the  matter,  Doctor  Goldsmith? 

GOLDSMITH.  (Nodding  toward  the  group  on 
stage)  Some  of  the  company  refuse  to  play  their 
parts.  (Down  to  box) 

JOHNSON.    Refuse? 

GOLDSMITH.     Refuse. 

( BURKE  comes  down  to  the  box.) 

MARY.    Why? 

GOLDSMITH.     They  don't  care  to  be  connected 

with  a  failure. 

(  BURKE  puts  arm  affectionately  about  GOLDSMITH 
for  a  second.) 

JOHNSON.  Sir — you  don't  mean  to  say — Mr. 
Burke  your  hand — ( BURKE  helps  him  over  the  rail 
—MARY  follows)  Refuse — where  are  they? 
(Sees  group  at  back.  Continuing)  Look  you,  my 
friends.  (Starts  to  them.  BOSWELL  assists  CATH 
ERINE  to  stage) 

GOLDSMITH.  Not  those,  Doctor.  The  mutineers 
have  gone  home. 

JOHNSON,     (c.  returning)    Gone  home? 

BURKE.    (L.)    Yes — the  manager  dismissed  them. 

GOLDSMITH.  It's  all  off — Colman's  refused  the 
play.  (L.  c.) 

JOHNSON.    Sir !  he  has  not. 

GOLDSMITH.  (With  his  play)  Well  here  it  is, 
scribbled  full  of  trifling  objections.  Among  them 
the  one  that — (Reads)  "  no  man  could  mistake  a 
private  house  for  an  Inn.  But  Garrick  will  know 
better ;  for  Garrick  was  there  himself  when  I  made 
the  mistake  myself. 


50  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

BURKE.    Was  where? 

GOLDSMITH.  At  Blackheath  when  I  ordered  out: 
friend,  Mr.  Featherstone,  to  brew  punch  for  us. 

BURKE.    You  put  that  in  a  play  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  I  did — Faith,  Misfortune  never, 
comes  my  way  that  I  don't  hitch  her  to  my  wagon. 
But  I'm  off  to  peddle  it  to  Davy  Garrick  again. 
(Crosses  R.  c.)  This  is  the  second  time  Colman 
called  it  out  of  rehearsal.  The  first  time  Garrick 
accepted  it  but  the  Doctor  here  made  him 
give  it  back — Colman — Garrick — Garrick — Colman. 
(Pantomimes  ball  tossing  over  a  net)  Oh,  I  tell 
you  there's  a  lot  of  go  in  it. 

BURKE.    But  why  take  it  away  from  Garrick? 

JOHNSON.  Think  of  the  black  eye  it  would  have 
given  the  play  at  the  start  to  have  it  said  Colman 
refused  it. 

GOLDSMITH.  That's  the  value  of  the  double  neg 
ative.  It's  so  much  better  to  say  he  refused  it 
twice. 

JOHNSON.  Sir,  he  did  not — he  has  simply  handed 
it  back. 

GOLDSMITH.  (With  a  wink  to  BURKE)  Oh — is 
that  all? 

(LEADER  begins  plaintive  strain.) 

JOHNSON.  That  is  all.  /  brought  that  play  to 
Colman  and  it  isn't  refused  until  he  convinces  me — • 
which  hang  it,  sir,  he  never  can. 

(MARY  applauds.) 

GOLDSMITH.  No,  for  when  your  pistols  miss  fire 
you'll  knock  him  down  with  the  butt  end  of  'em. 

JOHNSON.  (To  LEADER  and  annoyed  by  the 
music)  You  seem  pretty  sure  of  that,  sir — could 
you  defer  it?  (LEADER  stops  and  mumbles  to  the 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  51 

2nd  fiddler.  To  PROMPTER)  Where  is  Mr.  Col- 
man?  (Cross  R.) 

PROMPTER.  Gone  home  I  think — though  he  may 
have  stopped  in  front. 

JOHNSON.     (Starting  in  front)     I'll  see  him. 

PROMPTER.  That  door's  locked,  sir — besides  it's 
against  the  rules. 

JOHNSON.  (To  GOLDSMITH  c.)  Come,  come 
with  me,  Doctor.  (Growls  himself  out  at  back  to 
ward  stage  door) 

CATHERINE.    The  dear  old  bear,  I  could  hug  him. 

GOLDSMITH.  There's  nothin'  of  the  bear  about 
him  but  the  skin.  (Exit  after  JOHNSON) 

MARY.  I'm  so  sorry  for  him — I  feel  that  his  play 
will  succeed.  (R.  with  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Of  course  it  will  succeed. 
It  isn't  the  sentimental  Laura  Matilda  stuff  we've 
been  having  to  be  sure,  but  it's  a  splendid  play. 
And,  oh,  I  feel  such  an  interest  in  it,  Mr.  Craddock, 
because  he  got  his  idea  for  it  that  night  in  our 
house.  Mary  was  there. 

KENRICK.     (Enters  from  wings)     Miss  Mary? 

MARY.     (Calmly)    Mr.  Kenrick! 

MR.  KENRICK.  The  playhouse  in  the  daytime  is 
no  place  for  a  young  lady,  and  especially  the  stage 
of  it. 

MARY.  I  am  with  my  sister ;  and  friends ;  and  in 
Dr.  Johnson's  care. 

KENRICK.    Still,  the  associates  are  not  proper. 

MARY.    Which  ones  ? 

KENRICK.  Any  players.  The  whole  atmosphere 
is  wrong.  I  wouldn't  like  people  to  see  the  young 
woman  I  am  to  marry  entering  the  stage  door. 
Come,  let  us  go? 

MARY.  No.  These  people  are  my  friends.  I 
thing  it  is  a  great  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  come  to 
their  rehearsals. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.     (Who  has  seen  but  not 


52  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

heard.  Playfully)  What  is  it,  Mary?  Now,  she 
isn't  a  bit  in  the  way;  Mr.  Kenrick,  and  I  want  her 
advice  about  my  gowns,  and  really,  there  shan't 
anybody  run  away  with  her. 

KENRICK.  Oh,  I  don't  think  Miss  Mary'd  be  in 
the  way,  anywhere.  (Bows — cold  curtsey  from 
MARY)  But  it's  a  play  by  Dr.  Goldsmith,  and  al 
ready  the  magazines  are  hinting  at  the  unusual  in 
terest  certain  young  ladies  take  in  his  rehearsals. 

MARY.    Magazines  ? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  You  don't  mean  that  any 
magazine  has  dared  to  comment  on  the  girls  coming 
here? 

KENRICK.     (Hesitating)    I'm  told  they  have. 

MARY.    My  name  ? 

KENRICK.  I  don't  know  that  any  names  are  men 
tioned — but  I  think  it  wise  to  stop  Miss  Mary's 
visits. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Why!  to  think  of  it! 

KENRICK.  And  so  many  men  are  here  besides — • 
more  or  less  notorious  in  the  coffee-houses.  Burke 
- — and  Boswell. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.     Notorious — Burke? 

BURKE.     (Catching  his  name)     I  beg  pardon? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    I  didn't  mean  to  call  you. 

BURKE.  Oh!  (Is  about  to  turn  away  but.  next 
speech  stops  him) 

KENRICK.    I  insist  upon  you're  going. 

MARY.    Insist  ? 

BURKE.    Insist?    Where?    What  is  it? 

KENRICK.  Miss  Mary's  people  object  to  her 
presence  behind  the  scenes  in  the  daytime 

BURKE.    Well,  get  in  front  of  them,  Mary. 

KENRICK.    And  /  object  to  it. 

BURKE.  (Smiling)  Well,  that's  more  serious, 
but  just  as  hard  to  understand.  (Laughs)  Who 
are  you? 

KENRICK.    Miss  Mary  will  tell  you. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  53 

BURKE.     (Turning  to  MARY)    Well? 

KENRICK.    Will  you  come? 

MARY.     No. 

KENRICK.    If  your  brother  comes  for  you? 

MARY.  No — unless  he  has  some  better  reason 
than  you've  given. 

BURKE.  (Walking  away  with  KENRICK)  Hang 
it,  man,  the  girl's  not  an  infant,  and  if  she  were, 
you're  no  great  shakes  of  a  nurse  yourself. 

KENRICK.    That's  Irish  brilliancy,  I  suppose? 

BURKE.  It's  Irish  anyway — call  it  what  you  will, 
and  I've  a  blackthorn  stick  in  the  corner  there, 
that's  Irish  too. 

'(Exit  KENRICK.) 

MARY.    Mr.  Kenrick — (Starts) 
BURKE.     (Detaining  her)     You're  not  going? 
MARY.    I  don't  know.    I  suppose  I  should. 
BURKE.    Why  ? 
MARY.     Because  he  asks  it. 
MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Engaged,  you  know. 
BURKE.     Oh — (Pause)     Bat  not  married. 
MARY.    No,  we're  not. 

BURKE.  (Smiling)  Good,  because  you  don't 
nade  to  take  him  for  want  of  a  better. 

(MARY  turns  away.) 

CATHERINE.    Mr.  Burke? 

BURKE.    My  dear 

CATHERINE.  Mother  needs  some  legal  advice  she 
thinks.  You  could  give  it  to  her,  couldn't  you  ? 

(Enter  GOLDSMITH.) 

BURKE.  I  could,  but  before  she  follows  it,  she'd 
better  consult  an  attorney. 


54  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  BURKE)  I  just  met  that 
Kenrick  fellow  outside,  and  he  said  somethin'  cross- 
patch  about  the  girls'  bein'  here.  D'ye  think  it's 
improper  ? 

BURKE.  He's  engaged  to  marry  Mary,  you 
know. 

GOLDSMITH.     My  God! 

BURKE.  But  'twill  never  happen.  Sure  we're 
two  to  one  against  him. 

GOLDSMITH.  But  folks  don't  get  married  that 
way. 

(MARY  approaches  them — GOLDSMITH,  avoids  her, 
and  goes  to  the  LEADER.) 

BOSWELL.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Catherine,  Gold 
smith  owes  upwards  of  two  thousand  pounds. 
Rather  hard,  isn't  it? 

CATHERINE.    Does  he  owe  you  any  Bossy? 

BOSWELL.    Oh,  no — nothing 

CATHERINE.  That  would  be  rather  hard  too, 
wouldn't  it?  Hard  to  do. 

BOSWELL.     What  do  you  mean? 

CATHERINE.  Oh,  I  simply  recognize  that  you're 
Scotch. 

BOSWELL.  Well,  don't  you  think,  dear  lady, 
something  may  be  made  even  of  a  Scotchman  ? 

CATHERINE.    Yes,  if  they  catch  him  young. 

BOSWELL.     (Pleadingly)    Catherine. 

(CATHERINE  turns  from  BOSWELL  laughing.  BOS 
WELL  follows  perplexed.  BURKE  joins  promp 
ter  group.  GOLDSMITH  turns  from  LEADER — • 
MARY  meets  him.) 

MARY.  (Taking  his  lapel)  You  don't  know 
much  about  women,  do  you,  Doctor? 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  that  little  I  do  know  is  greatly 
to  their  credit. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  55 

MARY.     This  is  the  seventh  rehearsal  I've  been 

GOLDSMITH.  Oh,  you  were  speaking  of  their  en 
durance  ? 

MARY.    And  you  have  persistently  avoided  me. 

GOLDSMITH.  Avoided  you — why — why — why  I 
attend  the  rehearsals  myself  only  because  you're 
here. 

MARY.  Always  an  Irishman's  defense;  his 
blarney. 

GOLDSMITH.  Believe  me!  and  Ned  Burke  there. 
Couldn't  get  him  up  to  the  stage  door  till  I  told  him 
you  came  every  day. 

MARY.    Why  do  you  talk  to  me  always  of  Burke? 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  then  his  antithesis — I'll  bet 
Kenrick  comes,  too,  when  he  finds  out.  You  frown. 
That  blackguard's  not  bothering  you  again  ? 

MARY.  Never  mind  Kenrick,  or  Burke  either. 
You  do  avoid  me  and  some  way  you  don't  make  me 
so  much  your  friend.  It's  been  weeks  since  you 
called  at  our  home. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Smiling)  Well  you  know — the — • 
my  doctor's  forbidden  all  stimulants. 

MARY.  (Pained)  You  refuse  to  be  candid  with 
me,  do  you,  doctor? 

GOLDSMITH.  (Very  serious)  Why,  if  I  were 
candid  with  you — about  myself — I'd  frighten  those 
roses  out  o'  your  cheek — why  my  life's  a — 
(Pause) 

(Enter  JOHNSON  from  the  lack,  and  by  stage  door.) 

JOHNSON.  (Calls)  Doctor — Doctor  Gold 
smith — 

GOLDSMITH.     Yes,  sir. 

JOHNSON.      I've  got  Colman   in  the  Box  office. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Indicating  JOHNSON)  Always  my 
You  come  with  me. 


56  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

good  genius.    He's  just  saved  me  from  a  very  fool 
ish  exhibition — excuse  me.     (Goes  to  JOHNSON) 

BOSWELL.     May  I  accompany  you,  doctor  ? 

JOHNSON.     No,  sir.     (Exit  with  GOLDSMITH) 

(MARY    sits    by    dejected.      MRS.    FEATHERSTONE 
comes  down  with  BURKE.) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  He's  the  finest  man  that 
ever  brought  a  play  into  this  theatre. 

BURKE.     (Chaffing)     Got  a  good  part  I  see. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Not  the  best,  no — but 
'tisn't  that.  He's  just  a  dear  fellow.  I  want  'em  to 
put  Lee  Lewis  in  for  young  Marlowe  and  go  ahead. 
Lewis  is  a  good  looker  and  really  the  part  is  actor 
proof.  Now  don't  let  them  postpone  it,  Mr.  Burke 
— come  here;  there's  something  I  want  to  tell  you. 
(Brings  him  down)  If  this  piece  isn't  done  this 
season  Goldsmith  will  never  see  it  when  it  is  done. 

BURKE.    Why,  what  do  you  mean? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  I  persuaded  him  to  let  my 
physician  look  him  over.  (Holds  up  her  hands) 

BURKE.  I  knew  he  was  ailing — but  it  isn't  seri 
ous? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (With  emotion)  Serious? 
He's  a  physical  wreck — he  doesn't  look  it  but — cold 
garrets — poor  food — all  sorts  of  hours — (Uses 
handkerchief)  You  know  he's  got  to  calling  me 
"  ma "  like  these  young  snips  around  the  green 
room — well  I  like  it  from  him.  You're  his  friend 
Burke — and — I  do  like  him.  (Wipes  eyes  and 
goes  up) 

BURKE.    But  what's  the  physician  say? 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Returns}  He  just  shook 
his  head  when  I  asked  him  and  that's  worse  than 
anything  he  could  say. 

BURKE.  When  they  say  nothing  at  all — but  shake 
their  heads — you  call  that  in  the  theatre,  don't  you 
— "  business?  " 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  57 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Yes,  why? 

BURKE.  Well,  that's  business  with  a  doctor  too 
— sure  they  make  mountains  of  mole  hills. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Sadly)  Ah — (Goes  up 
shaking  her  head — BOSWELL  and  CATHERINE  join 
her) 

BURKE.  (To  MARY)  And  what's  the  matter, 
Mary,  with  you  ? 

MARY.    Oh,  I'm  positively  ill  over  it. 

BURKE.  We  envy  the  glittter  and  the  romance  of 
it  but — (Shakes  head  and  smiles) 

MARY.    Why  do  you  shake  your  head  ? 

BURKE.  That's  business."  (To  LEADER)  Do 
you  have  much  of  this  ? 

LEADER.  God  bless  you,  yes.  Why  we  don't  do 
half  the  pieces  we  rehearse. 

BURKE.  (To  MARY)  Think  of  that— still  it's 
the  same  with  me.  I  don't  speak  or  publish  half  the 
things  I  construct. 

MARY.     (Bantering)     You  couldn't. 

BURKE.  Well — you  should  know — for  you're  in 
most  o' thim.  (Follows  her  to  R.)  Noll  Goldsmith 
said  you'd  be  here.  That's  why  I'm  in  this — temple 
of  art.  Hang  it — Black  art  I'd  call  it.  Just  think 
of  it.  Here  we  are  back  o'  the  footlights.  I'm  a 
lover  dumb  with  despair ;  and  you're  a  proud  lady. 

MARY.    And  it's  all  of  it  play? 

BURKE.    Tell  me  your  perversity  is 

MARY.  I'll  tell  you  nothing — what  was  Mrs. 
Featherstone  saying  of  Goldsmith? 

BURKE.  Oh,  she  has  some  physician  with  a  big 
wig  and  he  shakes  his  head. 

MARY.     (Anxiously)     About  Goldsmmith? 

BURKE.  Oh,  yes — but  sure  you  have  to  frighten 
Noll  to  get  him  to  pull  up — Tut — tut — little  one — 
don't  look  so  scared.  What's  your  interest  in  Gold 
smith  anyway?  What's  your  interest  in  his  com 
edy? 


58  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

MARY.    What's  yours? 

BURKE.  Yourself.  He  said  you'd  be  here.  But 
down  at  Blackheath  you  said  you'd  marry  an  Irish 
man  if  you  married  at  all ;  and  you  looked  at  Gold 
smith  when  I  mussed  up  his  wig — Is  it  he?  (She 
turns  quickly  away — BURKE  follows  confronting 
her)  Tell  me — do  you  really  love  him? 

MARY.    Would  it  be  so  surprising? 

BURKE.    Faith  it  would. 

MARY.    You  love  him? 

BURKE.    I  do — but  I'm — I'm 

MARY.    Peculiar. 

BURKE.    I  see  you're  in  earnest. 

MARY.  Dr.  Johnson  loves  him.  So  does  Sir 
Joshua — and  Garrick. 

BURKE.     Sure — but  they're  none  o'  them  women. 

MARY.    Well,  I'm  a  woman.     (Walks  from  him) 

BURKE.  (Aside,  and  looking  after  her)  And  a 
'damned  fine  one.  To  think  a  woman  could  have 
sense  enough  to  see  inside  of  dear  old  Noll. 

(Enter  GARRICK  at  back — as  from  stage  door.) 

GARRICK.    Mr.  Colman  here? 

CATHERINE.    Oh,  Mr.  Garrick? 

BURKE.    How  d'ye  do,  Davy? 

GARRICK.    How'dy,  Ned?    Where's  Colman? 

BURKE.  Gone  home,  we  fear.  He's  dismissed 
the  rehearsal,  and  thrown  up  Goldy's  play. 

GARRICK.  That's  like  George.  When  we  were 
jointly  interested  in  management  I  went  nearly 
wild.  Couldn't  make  up  his  mind — never  anything 
definite.  Seen  the  London  "  Packet?  " 

BURKE.    No. 

GARRICK.  Horrible  attack  on  Goldy.  Tell  you 
later. 

CATHERINE.    I  saw  you  last  night,  David. 

GARRICK.    Where  ? 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  59 

CATHERINE.    At  your  theatre. 

GARRICK.    As  Romeo? 

CATHERINE.    Yes. 

GARRICK.    Please  you? 

CATHERINE.    I  thought  it  was  lovely. 

GARRICK.    Don't  call  Romeo  "  it." 

CATHERINE.    I  mean  the  performance. 

GARRICK.    Whose  ? 

CATHERINE.    Well,  yours — for  one. 

GARRICK.    Well,  one  was  all  I  tried. 

CATHERINE.  For  a  wonder.  You  generally  try 
io  be  everybody  about  you. 

GARRICK.    I  never  tried  to  be  you,  did  I  ? 

CATHERINE.    No.    I  don't  believe  you  ever  did. 

GARRICK.    Yet — you  and  I  might  be  one. 

CATHERINE.  Oh— pshaw.  It's  all  so  matter-of- 
fact  in  real  life.  Tell  me — why  do  the  musicians  al 
ways  play  when  there's  anything  sentimental  on  the 
stage  ? 

GARRICK.  Well,  unless  the  auditor  is  very 
sympathetic  and  listens  with  the  ear  of  faith,  words 
won't  mean  all  that  a  lover  thinks  they  mean. 
Music  is  the  language  of  emotion.  Music  helps 
convey  the  meaning.  Why— it  even  helps  the  actor. 

CATHERINE.    To  speak? 

GARRICK.  Yes — and  not  to  speak.  It  helps  him 
listen.  (To  LEADER)  Can  you  give  me  a  few  bars 
plaintive — tremolo — andante ? 

LEADER.     Plaintive — andante ? 

GARRICK.  Yes — pianissimo — and  don't  look. 
(To  CATHERINE)  Sit  here,  please.  (L.  of  table) 
Thank  you.  (She  sits.  The  orchestra  plays  a  ro 
mantic  melody  as  GARRICK  talks)  Catherine, 
Look  at  me.  Ah.  There's  something  in  your  eyes, 
little  girl,  that  sinks  into  my  soul,  and  seems  part 
of  myself.  There's  somewhat  in  the  perfume  of 
your  hair  like  the  smell  of  hazel  bushes,  and  which, 
as  I  breathe  it,  lulls  my  senses,  as  the  breath  of  jas 
mine  does. 


60  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

CATHERINE.  (Looking  at  him  seriously)  You 
are  acting? 

GARRICK.  I'm  in  the  theatre  now,  and  that  is 
where  I  am  myself.  This  is  my  world.  The  music 
is  the  still  more  real  and  better  part  of  me  which  no 
poet  can  express,  and  for  which  no  speech  is  cur 
rent,  and  here — I  love  you — always — always — you. 

CATHERINE.  (Hypnotised  by  speech  and  voice 
and  music}  I  know  it  isn't  so — at  all — any  of  it — • 
and  yet  I  find  myself  believing  you.  I  understand 
why  the  women  of  the  playhouse  have  their  heart 
aches. 

GARRICK.  (In  warm  undertone)  You  find  your 
self  believing  me? 

CATHERINE.    Yes. 

GARRICK.    Do  you  care  to  believe  me  ? 

CATHERINE.     (Pause)    I  think  I  do. 

GARRICK.     Then  do. 

CATHERINE.     Believe  you? 

GARRICK.  Yes.  (Naturally)  That  will  do,  Mr. 
Leader.  Thank  you.  (Exit  L.  with  CATHERINE 
who  is  still  dazed) 

(Enter  JOHNSON  and  COLMAN.) 

JOHNSON.  And,  sir,  in  no  half  hearted  way, 
either.  (L.  c.  follows  MARY  L.  3) 

COLMAN.     (c.)    Where  are  the  people? 

PROMPTER.  Miss  Catley  is  here  and  Mr.  Quirk 
and  Mrs.  Feather  stone — Miss  Bulkley's  gone  home. 

COLMAN.    Where's  Doctor  Goldsmith? 

PROPS.     (Repeating  loudly)     Doctor  Goldsmith? 

(COLMAN  looks  at  JOHNSON  and  shrugs  shoulders — 
JOHNSON  does  the  same  in  reply  and  turns  to 
MARY.  ) 

\  COLMAN.    I've  decided  to  put  the  piece  on  for  a. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  61 

night  anyway,  Craddock.  Put  in  Mr.  Quirk  for 
Tony  Lumpkin. 

PROMPTER.     He  has  the  part,  sir. 

COLMAN.    Let  Mr.  Lewis  try  young  Marloiv. 

PROMPTER.    Yes,  sir, 

COLMAN.     Call  for  nine  in  the  morning. 

JOHNSON.  Morning?  Can't  something  be  done 
to-day  ? 

PROMPTER.  Mr.  Quirk's  been  standing  by,  sir, 
and  he'd  like  to  run  through  his  stuff  with  Mrs. 
Hardcastle. 

COLMAN.    Very  well. 

LEADER.  (Standing  up)  Am  I  wanted  any 
longer  ? 

PROMPTER.  (Garrick  appears  at  back)  Just  a 
few  minutes,  Mr.  Cowley — we've  got  a  new  Lump- 
kin  and  we'd  like  to  hear  his  song. 

(LEADER   sits  growling.     Enter   L.    GARRICK   and 
CATHERINE.) 

GARRICK.  Mr.  Colman  here?     ( COLMAN  turns) 

COLMAN.  How'dy,  David? 

GARRICK.  Interrupting  anything? 

COLMAN.  (Shaking  head)    Just  bits. 

(GARRICK  crosses  to  MARY  and  JOHNSON.) 

GARRICK.  Want  to  see  you,  George.  (Shakes 
hands  with  MARY  and  comes  down  L.  Bos  WELL 
Joins  CATHERINE) 

PROPS.     Who's  that  Macaroni  ? 

PROMPTER.     Sh!     (Dumb  show  to  PROPS) 

COLMAN.  (To  GARRICK  c.)  What  can  I  do  for 
you? 

GARRICK.  Nothing — but  I'm  afraid  you've  done 
for  yourself.  (Draws  paper)  Look  at  that. 

COLMAN.    An  open  letter  to  Goldsmith. 


62  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GARRICK.    Kenrick. 

COLMAN.  What  an  ass.  He  told  me  he  wouldn't 
print  a  line  about  the  play  unless  it  was  done. 

GARRICK.  (Pointing  to  paper)  Did  you  tell  him 
it  was  sure  to  fail  ? 

COLMAN.    Yes,  I  think  I  did. 

GARRICK.  (Smiling)  And  we  used  to  be  in  busi 
ness  together.  Is  that  your  belief  ? 

COLMAN.    Honestly. 

GARRICK.  Did  you  tell  Kenrick  you  didn't  mean 
to  do  it? 

COLMAN.    Told  him  I  thought  I  wouldn't. 

GARRICK.    Then  why  do  you  do  it  ? 

COLMAN.  Damn  it,  Johnson  bullyrags  me  into  it. 
Why,  Dave,  the  piece  is  so  bad  that  the  people  are 
throwing  up  their  parts. 

GARRICK.    I  think  it's  pretty  good. 

COLMAN.    You  read  it  ? 

GARRICK.    Yes. 

COLMAN.    Why  didn't  you  do  it  ? 

GARRICK.  (Smiling)  Johnson  bullyragged  me 
out  of  it. 

(Whistle  blows  at  prompt  stand  evidently  a  speak 
ing  tube.) 

COLMAN.    Deuce  he  did.    (GARRICK  nods) 
PROMPTER.      Mr.    Colman.       (  COLMAN    turns) 
Box  Office  wants  to  speak  to  you. 

COLMAN.  See  who  it  is— If  it's  Doctor  Gold 
smith  tell  him  to  come  on  the  stage. 

(PROMPTER  and  COLMAN  now  speak  together.) 

PROMPTER.  (At  tube)  Who  is  it?  Is  it  Doctor 
Goldsmith  who  wants  Mr.  Colman. 

COLMAN.  The  man's  rattled.  He  goes  about  the 
streets  talking  to  himself. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  63 

PROMPTER.  It's  the  treasurer,  sir.  He  says  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester's  man  is  there  to  buy  a  box. 

GARRICK.  (Encouragingly)  There  you  are — the 
Duke  of  Gloucester. 

COLMAN.  (Approaching)  Well  tell  him — give 
me  the  tube  (Taking  the  mouth  piece  of  tube) 
John — Tell  the  Duke's  man  to  say  to  his  Grace  that 
Mr.  Colman  is  deeply  grateful  of  his  Grace's 
patronage,  but  that  as  the  play  is  sure  to  fail 

GARRICK.     What?     (Omnes  surprised) 

COLMAN.  That  Mr.  Colman  cannot  accept  the 
booking  fee  from  his  Grace. 

MARY.  (Crossing  toward  COLMAN)  You  cow 
ard! 

COLMAN.     (Turning)     What — what's  that? 

MARY.  You  coward — You're  worse  than  coward 
— You  traitor — How  dare  you  anyway?  What  do 
you  know  about  it?  You  never  wrote  anything 
yourself  worth  listening  to  but  the  piece  Mr.  Gar- 
rick  helped  you  with — Doctor  Johnson  says  so  him 
self. 

GARRICK.  (Expostulating)  My  dear  Miss  Hor- 
neck! 

( BURKE  takes  MARY  away.     MRS.  FEATHERSTONE 
comforts  them  as  MARY  is  almost  in  tears.) 

^  COLMAN.  I  only  give  my  opinion,  David.  The 
piece  dwindles  and  dwindles  and  goes  out  like  the 
snuff  of  a  candle. 

GARRICK.  Nonsense,  George,  you've  just  lost 
your  nerve.  I'll  take  the  venture  off  your  hands. 
'(Cries  of  "  Good"  etc.)  I'll  buy  the  week  at  the 
figure  of  your  expenses. 

COLMAN.     Week?    Why  it  won't  go  two  nights. 

GARRICK.  Ha, — ha — That's  because  it's  comedy 
— Comedy's  the  most  ghastly  stuff  to  rehearse. 
You've  got  to  have  your  laughs. 


64  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

JOHNSON.  (Scowling  and  scolding)  I  laugh — I 
come  every  rehearsal  and  laugh,  laugh!  laugh. 
(Finishes  in  a  deep  growl) 

GARRICK.  There  you  are — Now  I  fetched  over 
Drummond  from  my  theatre — (Calls)  Adam 
Drummond !  Drummond ! 

COLMAN.     Who's  Drummond? 

GARRICK.  Leads  my  laughs  in  the  audience  at 
Drury  Lane.  He's  got  a  laugh — well — the  neighing 
of  a  horse  of  the  son  of  Hystaspes  was  a  whisper  to 
it.  (Calls)  Adam — Oh,  here  he  is.  Only  one 
trouble — Doesn't  know  when  to  do  it.  (Enter 
DRUMMOND  a  robust  peri-wig ged  fellow)  Mr. 
Drummond — Mr.  Colman,  manager  here — Mr.  Col- 
man  is  bringing  out  a  new  play  by  a  friend  of  mine 
— a  comedy,  and  I  want  to  see  it  succeed.  Now  this 
is  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson.  Where  do  you  sit  the 
first  night,  Doctor? 

JOHNSON.     That  box. 

GARRICK.  Good — (He  carefully  explains  to 
DRUMMOND)  I'll  hold  a  stall  for  you  over  there. 
(Points  L.  in  parquet)  Never  mind  the  play — you 
watch  Doctor  Johnson — when  he  smiles — (DRUM- 
MONO  nods)  that's  all.  They're  going  to  rehearse 
some  bits  of  it.  (To  PROMPTER)  You  are? 

PROMPTER.    Yes,  sir. 

GARRICK.  You  just  sit  over  here  now,  Adam, 
and  show  them  how  much  a  little  discriminating  ap 
preciation  can  do.  (To  COLMAN)  And  George — 
see  here.  (Aside  to  COLMAN.  DRUMMOND  sits  to 
stage  left  and  carefully  watches  JOHNSON)  What 
I  really  intruded  for — you  don't  mind  this  imper 
tinence — (Indicates  whole  stage) 

COLMAN.     Why,  David? 

GARRICK.  (He  produces  the  newspaper)  We 
must  keep  this  thing  from  Goldsmith.  It's  the  talk 
of  the  whole  street.  Look  at  this  line 

COLMAN.     (Reading)     "  Will  woman  bear  it  to 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  65 

be  told  that  for  hours  the  great  Goldsmith  will  stand 
surveying  his  grotesque  Orang-outang's  figure  in 
a  pier  glass?  was  but  the  lovely  H — dash — K — as 
much  enamored — (Speaks}  H — K ' 

GARRICK.  (Explaining)  Horneck — Mary  Hor- 
neck — Kenrick's  in  love  with  her  himself,  and  he 
thinks  Goldsmith's  his  rival.  Oh,  I  tell  you  it's 
pretty  venomous — Now  we  must  keep  it  from  Goldy 
- — You  know  that's  too  dirty.  (Scans  the  print  with 
his  finger)  Orang-outang  and  all  that's  very  well 
but  to  drag  in  a  lady's  name — where  is  he?  (GAR- 
RICK  folds  the  paper) 

COLMAN.     Goldsmith  ? 

GARRICK.    Yes. 

COLMAN.  He  went  out  of  the  box  office  ahead  of 
Johnson  and  myself — I  thought  to  come  here. 

GARRICK.    Depressed  ? 

COLMAN.    Yes. 

GARRICK.  I'll  find  him.  (Going)  Good-day, 
ladies — Doctor. 

( COLMAN  speaks  to  PROMPTER.) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Calls)  Oh,  David! 
'(She  detains  him  in  dumb  show  talk) 

COLMAN.  (Testily.  To  PROMOTER)  Get 
through  as  quickly  as  you  can  and  get  rid  of  these 
people.  I've  got  a  piece  of  Kelley's  that  I  know's 
all  right — so  let's  get  this  on  and  off  and  be  done 
with  it. 

PROMOTER.  (With  vicarious  authority)  Clear 
the  stage  everybody. 

GARRICK.  (Coming  down)  Oh,  George — just  a 
minute — (Hands  paper)  Show  that  to  Burke  and 
Johnson  and  tell  them  to  keep  Goldsmith  busy  so 
that  he  doesn't  see  it.  And  the  young  lady  too — of 
course. 

COLMAN.    I  will. 


\ 


66  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GARRICK.  I'll  find  Goldy.  (Goes  quickly  out 
back  of  stage) 

COLMAN.    Mr.  Burke ! 

BURKE.  (Who  has  "cleared"  from  the  stage} 
Yes,  sir — (Returns)  I  thought  I  was  in  the  way. 

COLMAN.  And  Doctor  Johnson — May  I  see  you 
a  moment — (To  PROMPTER)  Just  wait  a  bit  with 
the  rehearsal. 

(JOHNSON,  BURKE,  COLMAN  aside  with  paper, 
MARY  and  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  together  at 
other  side.  CATHERINE  and  BOSWELL  come 
down  c.) 

BOSWELL.  That  was  a  strong  exhibition  of  spirit 
by  Miss  Mary 

CATHERINE.  You  Scotchman  like  your  spirits 
that  way  I  believe. 

BOSWELL.  And  I'm  sure  Doctor  Johnson  ad 
mired  it. 

CATHERINE.  I  pity  the  woman  that  marries  you, 
Bossy,  if  one  ever  does. 

BOSWELL.    Pity  ? 

CATHERINE.  Yes.  She'll  have  Johnson  for 
breakfast,  dinner  and  supper. 

BOSWELL.  Why,  no.  I  shouldn't  invite  him  al 
ways. 

CATHERINE.  (In  despair  at  his  density)  Oh, 
think  of  it — Johnson  and  calves  head.  (Taps  his 
forehead  with  her  lorgnette) 

BOSWELL.    Now  what  does  that  mean? 

(CATHERINE  hums  SCOTCH  tune.) 

COLMAN.  (The  conference  about  the  paper  is 
over)  Now,  Mr.  Craddock. 

PROMPTER.     (Impatiently)     Clear  everybody. 
COLMAN.    (Going  R.  with  JOHNSON)    I  still  think 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  67 

it  impossible,  Doctor.  The  idea  of  mistaking  a 
gntleman's  house  for  an  Inn. 

JOHNSON.    Sir,  Dr.  Goldsmith  himself  did  it. 

COLMAN.  That  rather  strengthens  my  contention 
— and  having  done  this,  the  heroine  stoops  to  play 
ing  barmaid  in  order  to  win  him.  Would  any  young 
lady  do  that?  Would  you.  Miss  Horneck? 

CATHERINE.    Provided  it  did  win  him,  yes. 

MARY.  Often  women  must  stoop  in  order  to 
conquer. 

JOHNSON.  (Suddenly  struck  by  the  phrase) 
There's  the  name  for  Goldy's  play.  (Back  to  MARY 
I  R.)  "She  stoops  to  Conquer" 

COLMAN.  I  like  the  "  Mistakes  of  a  Night,"  bet 
ter. 

BURKE.  (Laughing)  That  certainly  expresses 
the  managerial  position. 

COLMAN.  It  does.  But  that's  another  matter. 
I've  nobody  for  the  hero  but  Lewis. 

JOHNSON.    Who's  Lewis? 

COLMAN.    The  harlequin  of  the  theatre. 

MARY.    Oh,  how  cruel ! 

BURKE.  Harlequin?  Well  he's  a  tough  acrobatic 
fellow,  isn't  he? 

MARY.    How  can  you? 

PROMPTER.  Clear,  please.  (Calls)  Mr.  Quirk, 
Mrs.  Featherstone ;  we'll  run  through  that  scene  of 
yours  in  the  last  act. 

QUIRK.  (Reading  LUMPKIN.  With  part) 
"  Never  fear  me  " — and  so  forth  1 

PROMPTER.  Yes.  That  speech  is  to  Hastings. 
who  goes  off  right.  I'll  stand  for  Hastings. 
(Reads)  (( Rebuke" — and  so  forth,  and  so  forth 
— "care  of  the  young  man."  (Makes  false  exit. 
Continues  to  watch  the  text) 

QUIRK.  (As  LUMPKIN)  Never  fear  me.  Here 
she  comes." 

PROMPTER.      (Interrupting    to    explain)      It's   a 


68  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

dark  landscape  you  know  in  "  three  "  with  a  cut 
wood  in  two  and  Mrs.  Hardcastle  comes  through 
the  cut  wood  from  two. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Waiting  to  rehearse  the 
part  of  MRS.  HARDCASTLE — and  correcting  LUMP- 
KIN  as  he  faces  R.)  Two  left. 

LUMPKIN.     (Turning)     Oh — you  come  left. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Yes.  (She  goes  to  the  left 
wing) 

LUMPKIN.    Just  give  me  that  cue  again,  please. 

PROMPTER.  (Mumbling)  M-m-m-m-m  "  care  of 
the  young  one."  (PROMPTER  goes  off  R.) 

LUMPKIN.  Never  fear  me.  (Looks  left)  Here 
she  comes.  Vanish — she's  got  from  the  pond  and 
draggled  up  to  the  waist — like  a  mermaid 

(Enter  GARRICK  and  GOLDSMITH  at  back  of  the. 
auditorium. ) 

GARRICK.  (Walking  down  the  aisle  and  thru 
the  audience,  -followed  by  GOLDSMITH,  as  tho'  com 
ing  from  the  box  office  in  to  an  empty  theater)  Oh, 
Mr.  Prompter — just  a  moment — Mr.  Goldsmith  has 
consented  to  my  assisting  a  little  here.  I  hope  Mr. 
Colman  doesn't  object — (Shading  his  eyes  and  look 
ing  stage  over  from  the  auditorium.  Pause)  Is 
Mr.  Colman  there? 

PROMOTER.  (Leaning  over  foot  lights)  He's 
gone  out,  sir. 

GARRICK.  Well,  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  mind — • 
Just  run  that  last  speech  for  me  again,  will  you  ? 

'(MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  exit.) 

LUMPKIN.  (Inquiring)  "  She's  got  from  the 
pond  and  draggled  up  to  the  waist  like  a  mermaid  ?  " 

GARRICK.    Yes. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Entering.  Catching  the 
last  three  words)  Like  a  mermaid" — that's 
me. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  69 

GARRICK.  (Now  standing  by  the  leader  and  di 
recting  rehearsal)  One  moment,  Mrs.  Feather- 
stone. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Oh — going  back? 

GARRICK.  One  speech  only — (Exit  MRS.  FEA 
THERSTONE)  Now,  son,  (To  LUMPKIN  whom  he 
addresses  very  soothingly}  I  know  you're  simply 
reading,  but  you  go  on  to-morrow  night,  so  you 
might  as  well  study  correctly 

LUMPKIN.  (Half  embarrassed  in  presence  of  the 
great  actor  manager)  Why  certainly,  Mr.  Garrick 
— very  much  obliged  I'm  sure — -— 

GARRICK.  (Continuing  his  explanation)  The 
idea  of  mother  in  the  horse  pond ;  and  draggled  like 
a  mermaid,  is  meant  to  be  funny. 

LUMPKIN.    Yes,  sir. 

GARRICK.  Perhaps  it  isn't.  Maybe  "  our  dear 
friends  in  front,  et  cetera"  won't  care  for  it;  but 
this  boy  thinks  it's  funny. 

LUMPKIN.    Oh,  yes — I  suppose  I  think  it's  funny. 

GARRICK.  Well  that's  why  I  stopped  you.  Speak 
the  line  almost — not  quite,  you  understand,  but  al 
most  inarticulately  through  laughter. 

LUMPKIN.  (Trying  it)  And  drag — drag — drag 
gled  up  to  the  waist 

GARRICK.  No,  no — don't  try  "  to  write  up  the 
part "  my  boy — something  like  this — What  are  the 
words.  (To  PROMPTER) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Nervously  beside  GARRICK) 
Draggled  up  to  the  waist — like  a  mermaid. 

GARRICK.  (Soberly)  Oh,  yes — up  to  the  waist 
— (Then  to  Actor)  Mother  and  so  forth  and  so 
forth — (With  murmur)  And  draggled — up  to  the 
waist — like  a  mermaid.  (He  laughs  thru  the  speech 
with  consummate  skill) 

JOHNSON.  (Overborne  by  the  naturalness  of 
GARRICK)  Ha — ha!  ha!  (Loud  laugh) 

DRUMMOND.  (Following  instructions)  Ha,  ha — 
ha,  ha — (Still  louder) 


70  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GARRICK.  (To  DRUMMOND)  Adam — Adam — 
not  yet — not  yet 

GOLDSMITH.  (Ignorant  of  the  plan  and  resenting 
DRUMMOND'S  bellow)  Get  out  of  the  house,  sir — 
get  out  of  the  house. 

GARRICK.  No,  no,  Goldy,  /  fetched  him — he's 
all  right  and  he'll  be  out  here  to-morrow  night.  (He 
indicates  a  seat  in  the  parquet) 

GOLDSMITH.    Oh,  he  will?    Who  is  he? 

GARRICK.  (Introducing  DRUMMOND  to  GOLD 
SMITH)  Mr.  Adam  Drummond,  Dr.  Goldsmith; 
some  of  the  "  popularity  "  from  Drury  Lane. 

DRUMMOND.  (Leaving  his  chair  in  i  L.)  Pleased 
to  meet  you.  (They  shake  hands  over  the  foot 
lights) 

(GARRICK  climbs  onto  stage.    DRUMMOND  resumes 
his  chair.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  JOHNSON  who  is  in  box  R.) 
Sure  I  thought  he  was  the  carpenter. 

GARRICK.  (On  the  stage  and  taking  command  in 
fine  fashion)  Now  let's  go  at  this  in  earnest. 
(Calls)  Props— Props — 

PROPS.     (Coming  on)     Well,  sir. 

GARRICK.  (To  PROMPTER)  Let's  have  this  table 
out  of  the  way.  (GARRICK  talks  to  MRS.  FEATHER- 
STONE  frantically) 

PROMPTER.    Props. 

(PROPS  and  PROMOTER  remove  table.} 

LEADER.  (Who  has  been  whispering  to  GOLD 
SMITH  still  in  parquet)  I  thought  something  of  this 
kind.  (Runs  few  bars,  tremolo) 

LUMPKIN.  (With  trouble  enough  already)  That 
isn't  for  this  scene,  is  it? 

LEADER.    No — no. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Seeing  that  they  are  interfering. 
To  LEADER)  Well  we'll  talk  it  over  later. 

GARRICK.     (Smartly)     Now  again,  please. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  71 

PROMPTER.  (Reading  HASTINGS)  "  Rebuke " 
etc.  and  so  forth — "  care  of  the  young  one."  (False 
exit) 

LUMPKIN.  (By  MR.  QUIRK)  Never  fear  me — 
Here  she  comes — Vanish!  She's  got  from  the 
pond 

GARRICK.  (Seeing  PROMPTER  whom  LUMPKIN 
has  indicated)  Are  you  off  before  he  says  Vanish? 

PROMPTER.     I'm  simply  standing  for  the  part. 

GARRICK.    I  know — but  where  is  the  exit  marked? 

PROMPTER.  (Reading)  "  Care  of  the  young  one 
— exit." 

GARRICK.  Well  put  it  after  "  Vanish  "—Boy 
doesin't  want  to  be  saying  Vanish  to  the  wood- 
wings. 

LUMPKIN.  (Glad  of  an  excuse)  That's  what 
kind  a  "  threw  me  " — nobody  to  play  to. 

GARRICK.  (Sympathetic)  Of  course — (Sharply) 
Now  again  "Rebuke  and  so  forth — (To  wing) 
"  Care  of  the  young  one." 

LUMPKIN.    Never  fear  me 

GARRICK.     (Encouragingly)     Lift  it.    Lift  it. 

LUMPKIN.  (Brightening)  Here  she  comes — 
Vanish — (GARRICK  exit)  She's  got  from  the  pond 
and  (Imitating  GARRICK'S  manner)  draggled  up  to 
the  waist  like  a  mermaid,  ha,  ha — ha — ha — (Pause) 

PROMPTER.     (Calls)     "  Like  a  mermaid." 

GARRICK.  (Impatiently  repeats  and  inquires) 
"  Like  a  mermaid." 

PROMPTER.     (Annoyed)     Mrs.  Featherstone. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Who  has  been  talking  to 
JOHNSON)  Yes? 

PROMPTER.     (In  disgust)     "  Like  a  mermaid" — 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  "  Like  a  mermaid,"  that's 
me.  (Enters  i) 

PROMPTER.    Enter  in  two  please. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  I  know  but  I  thought  you 
were  going  back.  (MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  retires) 


72  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

(PROMOTER  nods  to  LUMPKIN.) 

LUMPKIN.  (Laughing)  Up  to  the  waist  like  a 
mermaid." 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (As  MRS.  HARDCASTLE 
enters)  "  Oh,  Tony,  I'm  killed— shook— battered 
to  death — I  shall  never  survive  it.  That  last  jolt  has 
done  my  business." 

LUMPKIN.  Alack,  Mamma,  it  was  all  your  own 
fault.  You  would  be  for  running  away  by  night 
without  knowing  one  inch  of  the  way." 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  "  I  wish  we  were  at  home 
again — I  never  met  so  many  accidents  in  so  short  a 
journed."  (Speaks  in  sudden  descent  from  the 
characterization)  I  wanted  to  ask  you,  Doctor 
Goldsmith,  about  that  line. 

GOLDSMITH.    Yes,  Madame. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Squatting  at  foot-lights) 
"  So  short  a  journey."  But  it  isn't  a  short  journey 
you  know.  In  his  next  lines  to  me,  my  son  says 
about  forty  miles  from  home. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  it's  short  for  so  many  acci 
dents  you  see,  and  the  lady  goes  on  to  describe 
them. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Dubiously)  Yes — short 
that  way  I  suppose.  (Rises  and  returns) 

PROMPTER.     (Tired  of  excuses)    Go  on  please. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Remembering)  "  Dren 
ched  in  the  mud — overturned  in  a  ditch — stuck  fast 
in  a  slough — jolted  to  a  jelly  and  at  last  to  lose  our 
way ;  whereabouts  do  you  think  we  are,  Tony  ?  " 

LUMPKIN.  "  But  my  guess  we  should  be  upon 
Heavy  tree  Heath,  about  forty  miles  from  home." 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  "  Oh  Lud — Oh  Lud — The 
most  notorious  spot  in  all  the  country.  We  only 
want  a  robbery  to  make  a  complete  night  on't." 

PROMPTER.  (Bringing  the  illusion  to  earth  again) 
Now  there'll  be  a  stump  there  that  the  old  lady 
sinks  on  to. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  73 

GARRICK.    Well,  let's  have  it,  Mr.  Prompter. 
PROMPTER.    Props. 

(PROPS  appears.) 

GARRICK.  (Smartly)  We  want  a  stump  here — • 
you've  got  a  stump  in  the  property-room,  haven't 
you? 

PROPS.  (Spurred  "by  GARRICK'S  manner)  Oh  I 
think  so !  (Dances  a  break) 

GARRICK.  (In  cockney  reproduction)  Well 
fetch  it  please.  (Dances  like  PROPS.  Exit  PROPS) 

(All  smile  or  laugh  excepting  JOHNSON  and  DRUM- 
MOND  who  awaits  his  example.) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (Utilizing  the  interrup 
tion)  Now,  Doctor  Goldsmith,  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
how  you  want  this  done.  You've  been  so  busy  with 
the  other  people  I  haven't  had  time  to  ask  you. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Going  on  to  stage  over  the  foot 
lights)  Well,  do  it  broadly — In  fact  overdo  it  a 
trifle. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  (In  great  perplexity)  Oh 
— it's  so  out  of  my  line.  (Turns  to  GARRICK)  You 
know  Mr.  Garrick — "  Queen  mothers "  and  that 
sort  of  thing;  but  these  nervous  old  women;  not  my 
line  at  all.  If  you'd  only  give  me  some  idea. 

(LUMPKIN  goes  to  PROMPTER.) 

GARRICK.  Why  very  simple.  (Takes  part. 
'Enter  PROPS  with  stump)  Nowhere's  the  stump — 
(Places  it)  Your  son  is  there — Oh — Oh — (Looks 
at  LUMPKIN,  hesitates — turns  to  GOLDSMITH)  You 
know  your  own  lines,  Doctor. 

GOLDSMITH.    I  do. 

GARRICK.  Then  just  run  this  "  opposite  part " 
yvith  me — "  forty  miles  from  home." 

GOLDSMITH.     (Assuming  the  part  of  LUMPKIN) 


74  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

"  By  my  guess  we  should  be  upon  Heavytree  Heath 
about  forty  miles  from  home/' 

(GARRICK   nods    to    LUMPKIN    to    observe    GOLD 
SMITH'S  treatment.) 

GARRICK.  (Assuming  the  old  woman  role  and  as 
MRS.  HARDCASTLE,  giving  another  example  of  his 
genius)  "  Oh,  Lud — Oh,  Lud — the  most  notorious 
spot  in  all  the  country.  We  only  want  a  robbery  to 
make  a  complete  night  on't."  (Sinks  to  stump) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Treating  GARRICK  as  his  mother) 
"  Don't  be  afraid,  Mamma — don't  be  afraid.  Two 
of  the  five  that  kept  here  are  hanged  and  the  other 
three  may  not  find  us." 

GARRICK.  (Resuming  the  stage  manager  for  the 
moment)  Wouldn't  it  help  that  to  emphasize 
"  may  "  other  three  may  not  find  us." 

GOLDSMITH.    Seem  strained,  wouldn't  it? 

GARRICK.  Well — (Touching  forehead)  pretty 
low  out  there — (Points  to  the  parquet)  got  to  hand 
it  right  to  them — and  sometimes  they  won't  take  it 
then. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well — you  know  your  business — 
(They  resume  their  play  of  son  and  mother) 
"  other  three  may  not  find  us.  Don't  be  afraid.  Is 
that  a  man  that's  galloping  behind  us  ?  " 

{(Start  and  scream  by  GARRICK.  JOHNSON  laughs. 
DRUMMOND  laughs.  GARRICK  stimulated  by 
his  hit  continues  the  caricature  until  DRUM- 
MONO,  overcome,  leaves  the  stage  in  a  gale.) 

GARRICK.  (To  others)  That  ought  to  be  a  very 
good  scene. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Oh— I  studied  it  quite  the 
other  way.  I'm  so  much  obliged,  so  much^  obliged. 

LUMPKIN.  I  see  what  you  want  and  I'll  be  all 
right  to-morrow  morning  at  rehearsal. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  75 

GOLDSMITH.  Good.  (He  is  in  high  spirits  over 
the  color  GARRICK  has  infused) 

(Enter  PROPS  with  paper.) 

PROPS.  See  this,  sir.  (Hands  paper  to  GOLD 
SMITH) 

GOLDSMITH.     (Taking  paper)    What  is  it. 

PROPS.     Just  a  pleasant  little  "  turn  over." 

GOLDSMITH.  (Reading  indifferently)  Why  this 
will  only  re-act  in  my  favor. 

(To  others  who  have  been  talking  aside,  gradually 
realize  that  GOLDSMITH  has  the  abusive  attack.) 

BURKE.     I  say,  Noll — I  wouldn't  read  that. 

GOLDSMITH.  Why,  bless  you,  Ned,  I  don't  mind 
it.  (Sudden  change  of  manner  and  cry — a  turn  to 
ward  MARY  and  an  involuntary  hiding  of  the  paper) 

BURKE.  (Tenderly)  That's  what  we  didn't 
want  you  to  see,  old  fellow. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Crushed)  Her  name  in  this  dirty 
sheet — has  she  seen  it? 

BURKE.    No,  and  we  won't  let  her. 

GARRICK.     (Joining  them)    Don't  mind,  Goldy — 

GOLDSMITH.    But  to  drag  her  name  into  it,  David. 

GARRICK.  I  know,  but  be  careful.  (They  lead 
GOLDY  off  R.) 

MARY.  (Advancing)  What  was  that?  I  saw  a 
paper  ? 

GARRICK.  A  personal  attack  on  Doctor  Gold 
smith.  (Gives  paper  to  JOHNSON) 

MARY.  Is  that  the  truth — was  my  family  not 
mentioned  ? 

BURKE.    Why,  Mary— it  can't  hurt  you. 

MARY.    What  was  it? 

GARRICK.  (To  JOHNSON,  who  wavers)  Don't — 
don't  show  it. 

MARY.  There  are  other  copies  of  the  paper — 
How  can  you  keep  it  from  me? 


76  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

JOHNSON.  True!  It  is  a  vile  and  over  written 
attack  on  this  worthy  gentleman  (Reads  paper) 
and  the  only  allusion  to  yourself  is  in  this  line — • 
"  was  but  the  lovely  H — K  " — presumably — Hor- 
neck — "  as  much  enamored.  You  would  not  sigh, 
my  gentle  swain  in  vain."  (KENRICK  enters  un 
suspecting)  Merely  a  coupling  of  Goldsmith's 
name  with  yours. 

MARY.     I  want  that  paper. 

JOHNSON.    Why  ? 

MARY.    To  keep  it.     (Pause) 

BURKE.     (Dashed)    To  keep  it 

MARY.    Yes,  it  is  an  honour  I  have  not  deserved. 

(KENRICK  comes  down.) 

KENRICK.    Miss  Horneck. 

SEVERAL.    Kenrick ! 

KENRICK.  It  is  the  wish  of  your  mother,  and 
Captain  Horneck  that  you  leave  this  place  at  once. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Rushing  from  the  side)  Did  you 
write  that?  Did  you? 

KENRICK.    What  of  it? 

GOLDSMITH.  Did  you?  Did  you?  (Strikes  him 
with  his  cane  until  seized  by  BURKE  and  GARRICK — • 
but  again  breaks  away) 

(KENRICK  draws  his  sword.) 

GARRICK.  (Taking  sword  from  KENRICK)  You 
disgrace  a  sword,  sir.  (Breaks  it  over  his  knee) 
Go ! ! !  (He  points  to  the  door) 

(MARY  goes   tenderly   to   GOLDSMITH   who   leans 
overcome  on  BURKE.) 

CURTAIN. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  77 

ACT  III. 

1  SCENE: — A  garret  with  the  roof  sloping  down  at 
back.  Fireplace  left  2.  Window  to  small 
balcony  left  I.  Dormer  window  at  back.  Door 
I  R.  Thru  the  window  is  seen  a  London  house 
top  backing.  Furniture:  Wash-stand  with 
metal  ewer  and  basin.  Flower  pots  in  window 
at  back.  Bed,  R.  u.  corner.  Small  box  of  coals, 
table  and  two  chairs  center.  Profusion  of 
books  and  MSS.  Fire  in  fireplace.  Strong 
sunlight  in  window  left. 

DISCOVERED : — GOLDSMITH,     MRS.     FEATHER- 
STONE,  LITTLE  MARY,  and  ANNIE. 

GOLDSMITH.  (  With  mortar  and  pestle  at  work  at 
table)  And  you  say  the  pains  came  back  on 
mother  ? 

LITTLE  MARY.    Yes,  sir. 

GOLDSMITH.    Did  she  take  all  the  medicine? 

LITTLE  MARY.    I  don't  know,  sir. 

FEATHERSTONE.  Why  do  you  do  this  kind  of 
work,  Doctor — when  you  succeed  so  much  better 
with  your  pen? 

GOLDSMITH.  Oh,  I  succeed  very  well  at  this,  sir. 
I  never  in  all  me  practice  lost  a  single  patient. 

FEATHERSTONE.     (Astonished)     Well!     Well! 

GOLDSMITH.  Except  by  death.  (MRS.  FEATHER- 
STONE  and  FEATHERSTONE  laugh)  Now,  where's 
that  bottle?  (Gets  wine  bottle,  pours  into  vial) 

FEATHERSTONE.    What's  that? 

GOLDSMITH.  Sure  you  don't  have  to  ask  that, 
smell  it.  (Puts  bottle  under  FEATHERSTONE'S  nose, 
pours  again)  And  it's  the  last ;  but  the  poor  woman 
thinks  she  wants  physic,  when  I  know  it's  this  she 
nades. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  But  what  was  that  stuff 
you  ground  up  there? 


78  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  Some  pepper  and  a  bit  of  carroway 
seed  to  make  it  professional.  (Aside  with  ANNIE) 
Here,  my  dear,  take  this  to  mother  and  tell  her  it 
doesn't  look  so  red  as  the  first  lot  because  it's  not 
quite  as  strong  but  it'll  taste  just  as  bad. 

LITTLE  MARY.  Mother  says  she'll  pay  you  as 
soon  as  she  gets  the  money. 

GOLDSMITH.  Faith  no  one  could  do  more.  Wait 
a  minute,  my  love,  I'll  go  with  you. 

FEATHERSTONE.  (At  window  left)  It's  an  in 
spiring  view  from  here,  Doctor.^ 

GOLDSMITH.  The  most  inspiring  to  a  man  of  my 
nature.  That  window,  looks  fair  upon  Fleet  Street 
prison  and  by  cranin'  your  neck  from  this  one  in 
the  dormer  you  can  just  get  a  peep  of  Covent 
Garden  to  the  left.  (Back  to  table) 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Laughing)  You  pays  your 
money  and  you  takes  your  choice. 

GOLDSMITH.  Faith  if  you  don't  pay  your  money 
it's  no  choice  at  all — but  off  there  to  the  Fleet — 
(They  laugh) 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Well,  it's  no  choice  with 
me,  either,  for  I  must  off  to  rehearsal. 

GOLDSMITH.  A  new  play  so  soon?  (Front  of 
table) 

FEATHERSTONE.  Yes.  They  don't  need  it  of 
course.  Your  play  will  run  two  weeks  easily,  but 
Colman's  out  of  town  and  his  assistant  must  be 
prepared  with  a  new  play.  So  they  are  rehearsing 
something  of  Kelly's. 

GOLDSMITH.  Colman  out  of  town?  ^ts  on 
table) 

FEATHERSTONE.  Yes — laughed  out — (All  laugh) 
He's  the  butt  of  the  town  since  "  She  stoops  to  Con 
quer"  so  completely  reversed  his  prediction. 

GOLDSMITH.  "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  "—what  a 
good  name  for  it.  I  tell  you  Sam  Johnson's  a 
wonderful  man. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  79 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.    Why,  he  didn't  name  it. 

GOLDSMITH.    I  thought  he  did. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  No.  He  seized  upon  the 
expression  when  he  heard  it — but  it  was  Mary 
Horneck  who  spoke  it. 

GOLDSMITH.  Mary!  (Rises) — and  to  think  she's 
to  be  wasted  on  that  blackguard  Kenrick. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  It's  your  fault,  Doctor. 
She  thinks  more  of  your  little  finger  than  of  ail  the 
Kenricks  in  the  world. 

GOLDSMITH.  No — no — why  I'm  fourteen  or  fif 
teen  years  older  than  she  is. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  What  of  that?  Look  at 
William.  He's  tv/elve  years  older  than  me.  Why 
that  simply  makes  a  woman  feel  safe.  (GOLD 
SMITH  laughs.  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  joins  laugh} 

WILLIAM.  (Less  appreciative  of  the  humor) 
See  here,  Sarah 

GOLDSMITH.  But  what  of  William?  Where's  his 
peace  of  mind? 

FEATHERSTONE.  Yes ;  tied  up  at  Blackheath  and 
she  is  here  at  rehearsals. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  Nonsense.  He  always 
moves  into  town  when  I'm  in  the  bill — but  I  must 
be  going.  (Pause.  Notices  FEATHERSTONE  is 
crosspatch,  goes  to  him  and  pats  his  cheek)  Why, 
cross  patch,  goes  to  him  and  pats  his  cheek)  Why, 
wasn't  for  the  little  excitement  we  get  out  of  my 
being  in  the  theatre.  Kiss  me. 

(FEATHERSTONE  pouts.) 

GOLDSMITH.    Hang  it,  man,  kiss  her  or  I  will. 

FEATHERSTONE.  (Mock  indignation)  You  will? 
(Kisses  MRS.  FEATHERSTONE) 

GOLDSMITH.  Yes — and  maybe  I  will  anyway. 
(MRS.  FEATHERSTONE  runs  laughing  to  door) 
You're  forgetting  your  basket. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  I  was  trying  to  forget  it. 
There's  a  pair  of  grouse  in  it. 


8o  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  How  fortunate !  I'm  writing  about 
grouse. 

MRS.  FEATHERSTONE.  These  are  trussed^  and 
Jdone  nicely  brown — with  the  compliments  of  "  Mr. 
Hardcastle."  William  will  never  get  over  being  put 
in  a  play.  Now,  good  morning  and  take  better  care 
of  yourself.  You  must  come  and  visit  us  at  Black- 
heath.  I'll  send  William  for  you  the  first  week  I'm 
out  of  the  bill. 

GOLDSMITH.  Thank  you.  (Exit  MRS.  FEATHER- 
STONE.  GOLDSMITH  looks  into  basket)  When  a 
good  woman  has  no  children  she  adopts  a  dog  or  a 
poet — or  something.  D'ye  mind  if  I  don't  eat  both 
of  these  ? 

FEATHERSTONE.    Of  course  not. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Taking  one  of  the  grouse  and 
wrapping  it)  Mary,  take  this  to  mother  and  tell  her 
to  take  a  few  bites  every  hour. 

LITTLE  MARY.    Shall  I  bring  back  the  napkin? 

GOLDSMITH.    Yes ;  I  was  forgettin'  that. 

(Exit  LITTLE  MARY.) 

FEATHERSTONE.  Now,  get  your  hat  and  coat  and 
let's  go  to  Tom  Davies. 

GOLDSMITH.  My,  but  I've  a  world  of  work  to  do 
here.  (Looks  about  at  the  disordered  books} 

FEATHERSTONE.  But  your  mind  won't  be  on  it  if 
you  know  the  wits  are  at  the  coffee  house  discussing 
your  success. 

GOLDSMITH.    True;  and  the  fog's  entirely  gone, 

FEATHERSTONE.  Entirely.  The  Strand  is  like 
the  south  of  France. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Getting  his  hat  and  coat)  tor  me 
doctor  told  me  not  to  go  out  in  the  damp. 

FEATHERSTONE.    Come. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  81 

[(Enter  JOHNSON  and  LITTLE  MARY  ;  she  carries  the 
napkin.) 

GOLDSMITH.  Why,  Doctor  Johnson!  You  find 
it  a  hard  climb? 

LITTLE  MARY.    I  showed  him  the  way. 

JOHNSON,  (puffing)  What  is  a  man  of  your 
genius  doing  in  quarters  like  these? 

GOLDSMITH.    Retrenchment. 

FEATHERSTONE.  But  you're  getting  a  good  sum 
for  your  play,  aren't  you — great  success  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Three  hundred  pounds  and  that 
was  gone  long  before  I  got  it.  Faith,  I  never  made 
sixpence  in  me  life,  that  didn't  get  me  a  shilling  in 
debt. 

(Enter  LANDLADY.) 

LANDLADY.  (Angrily)  Well,  Doctor  Gold- 
Smith  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    Mrs.  Higgins. 

LANDLADY.  People  say  your  play's  a  great  suc 
cess — and  you  know  what  you  promised  me  if  it 
was 

GOLDSMITH.    Won't  you  have  a  chair  ? 

LANDLADY.  I'll  have  all  of  them,  sir,  if  my  rent 
isn't  paid. 

JOHNSON.  (Rising  and  slapping  table)  Quiet 
woman — (The  LANDLADY  recoils  before  the  explo 
sion)  don't  you  see  that  Doctor  Goldsmith  has 
callers?  What  a  hussy  you  must  be  to  choose  a 
time  like  this  for  your  importunity.  Don't  you 
know  that  his  occupancy  of  your  garret  is  the  only 
fact  that  lends  any  distinction  to  your  rat  trap? 

LANDLADY.  Rat  trap  yourself — why  don't  he 
work  instead  of  wastin'  hour  after  hour  on  them 
flower  pots  and  everything ;  with  that  child  and • 

GOLDSMITH.  (Smiling  at  LITTLE  MARY)  Aye — 
and  wasted  in  the  same  way. 


82  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

LANDLADY.    Why  don't  that  young  one  go  Home? 

GOLDSMITH.  Not  at  all — not  at  all.  Mrs. 
Higgins,  to  be  sure  I  can't  pay  the  rent  but  I  may 
share  me  poverty. 

LANDLADY.  Well,  you  won't  share  it  long.  Rat 
trap!.  Pockmarked  old  butcher.  (Exit) 

(FEATHERSTONE  turns  laughing  to  window  L.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  LITTLE  MARY)  Miss  Mary,  I 
regret  that  this  awkward  contretemps  should  have 
been  contemporaneous  with  your  call  upon  me. 

LITTLE  MARY.  Mother  sent  back  this  napkin, 
and  oh — she's  ever  so  much  obliged  for  the  grouse. 

GOLDSMITH.     She  is  entirely  welcome. 

JOHNSON.    Grouse — what  grouse? 

FEATHERSTONE.  Sarah  brought  in  a  brace  from  a 
bag  I  made  last  week. 

JOHNSON.     (At  basket)    Is  this  one  of  them? 

FEATHERSTONE.    Yes. 

(GOLDSMITH  walks  anxiously  around  at  back  watch"' 
ing  JOHNSON'S  interest  in  the  grouse.) 

JOHNSON.    'M ! 

GOLDSMITH.  I  thought  it  would  make  a  dainty 
morsel  at  Tom  Davies. 

JOHNSON.  It  will.  But  two  would  have  been 
better.  (Puts  basket  aside)  Here,  sir,  are  four 
books  from  Griffith's;  bound  in  tree  calf,  and 
turned,  with  gilt  edges.  The  binding  alone  is  worth 
two  guineas  the  volume.  Griffith  tells  me  the  sub 
scription  to  the  press  was  two  guineas  more. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  sir,  what  of  the  matter? 
You  don't  think  to  put  us  out  of  countenance  by  the 
cost  of  the  dress  ? 

JOHNSON.  Sir,  Griffith  wants  them  reviewed  for 
his  forthcoming  issue;  but  he  is  much  distressed 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  83 

over  the  slovenly  treatment  you  have  given  some 
books  entrusted  to  your  care. 

GOLDSMITH.  Fie  on  him!  The  merest  proof 
sheets — no  such  nobility  as  these. 

JOHNSON.  I  am  his  security  for  these.  I  prom 
ised  him  you'd  do  the  work  in  a  week.  I  know  you 
don't  like  the  labor  but  the  remuneration  is  sure. 

GOLDSMITH.    I  thank  you. 

JOHNSON.  (Rising)  And,  sir,  a  week  is  no  time 
too  much  for  the  proper  performance  of  the  task. 
(Takes  basket)  One  grouse!  (To  GOLDSMITH) 
Don't  you  know,  sir,  that  a  neck  of  mutton  would 
have  been  just  as  good  for  your — mendicants? 

GOLDSMITH.  I  do,  but  I  was  just  out  of  necks  o* 
mutton. 

JOHNSON.  (To  FEATHERSTONE)  Come,  let  us 
go  to  Tom  Davies. 

GOLDSMITH.     Yes.     (Gathers  his  coat  and  hat) 

JOHNSON.  Not  you,  sir !  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Feather- 
stone. 

GOLDSMITH.    But  you  don't  intend  to  lave  me? 

JOHNSON.  Sir,  I  rebuked  that  intruding  female 
because  her  conduct  deserved  rebuke — but  her  con 
tention  was  not  entirely  without  merit.  You  do 
waste  your  time,  Doctor  Goldsmith;  not  only  on 
these  children  or  your  flower  pots  but  upon  idle 
listeners  at  the  coffee  house,  and  club ;  and  sir  I  de 
cline  to  be  one  to  your  misleading — come.  (Exit) 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  FEATHERSTONE)  I'd  like  the 
next  ones  with  feathers  on  'em. 

(FEATHERSTONE  goes  out  suppressing  laughter.) 

LITTLE  MARY.    Is  he  your  father  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  My  dear,  he  isn't  even  a  brother. 
"  Wastin'  time" — wastin'  time.  (To  flowers) 
Whin  I've  even  forgot  ye  the  entire  day. 
(Sprinkles  flowers) 

LITTLE  MARY.  You  said  you'd  play  the  flute  for 
me. 


34  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.     So  I  did. 

MARY.  Well,  why  don't  you?  (Banging  the 
table) 

GOLDSMITH.    I  will — I  will. 

LITTLE  MARY.    Of  course  you  will. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Getting  flute)  Faith,  she's  as 
exigent  as  royalty,  before  her  petticoats  come  to  her 
knees.  (Sees  paper)  See  here,  you  baby  Mary, 
oh,  the  sweetness  o'  that  name.  Here's  something 
I  wrote  before  I  began  wastin'  time  on  those  dis 
tinguished  gintlemen  from  Parnassus — Listen 

[(Reads) 

The  wretch  condemned  from  life  to  part, 

Still,  still  on  hope  relies ; 

And  every  pang  that  rends  the  heart, 

Bids  expectation  rise. 

Hope,     like     the     glimmering     taper's     light 

Illumines  and  cheers  our  way ; 

And  still  as  darker  grows  the  night 

Emits  a  brighter  ray.     (Speaks) 

Now,  how  do  you  like  that? 

LITTLE  MARY.  (Tentatively)  Why,  I  think 
that's  pretty.  But — what  does  it  mean  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  The  world  shall  ask  that  question 
and  I  won't  tell  'em.  It  means,  I  love  a  little  girl 
named  Mary.  (Plays  a  Flute.  Loud  knocking  in 
terrupts)  Come  in!  (Enter  CAPTAIN  HORNECK 
and  KENRICK  angrily,  and  wearing  swords)  Cap 
tain  Horneck.  (Goes  toward  mantel) 

CAPTAIN.    Where,  sir,  is  my  sister? 

GOLDSMITH.    Mary? 

KENRICK.     (Advancing)     Yes,  sir,  Mary. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Confronting  him)  Don't  you  talk 
to  me — Don't  you. 

CAPTAIN.    Where  is  she? 

GOLDSMITH.  I  haven't  seen  her,  sir,  since  the 
first  night  of  the  play. 

KENRICK.    You  lie ! 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  85 

GOLDSMITH.  (Looking  about  and  getting  candle- 
stick  from  mantel)  Oh,  do  I  ? 

(LITTLE  MARY  runs  off.) 

CAPTAIN.  (Interposing  and  addressing  GOLD 
SMITH)  That  business  later.  My  sisters  left  home 
an  hour  ago  after  a  distressing  scene  with  my 
mother  in  which  Mary  declared  that  she  was  your 
wife. 

GOLDSMITH.    My  wife — Mary? 

CAPTAIN.    Yes,  sir— Mary. 

GOLDSMITH.  Never  in  the  world — she  never  said 
anything  of  the  kind. 

(Enter  BURKE.) 

KENRICK.  (To  CAPTAIN)  I  told  you  he'd  lie 
about  it.  Let  me  get  at  him — I'm  not  afraid  of  his 
candlestick. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Hopping  about)  Gad!  I'll  have 
two  o'  thim.  (Gets  second  candlestick) 

BURKE.  (Interposing)  What's  the  mattter, 
Noll  ?  Has  Davy  Garrick  been  here  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  He  has  not.  Take  one  of  me  can 
delabra  here. 

CAPTAIN.  Doctor  Goldsmith  who  has  been  ad 
mitted  to  our  house,  as  a  friend,  and  who  acted  as 
my  mother's  and  sister's  escort  to  the  Continent, 
has  betrayed  the  trust  reposed  in  him  and  clandes 
tinely  married  my  sister  Mary. 

BURKE.  (Shocked  at  first  and  then  loyal  to 
GOLDSMITH)  Noll! — (Crosses  to  GOLDSMITH  c., 
shakes  his  hand.  Turns  upon  CAPTAIN)  Well,  sir, 
and  who  are  you  that  a  connection  with  a  man  who 
has  written  the  best  poem,  the  best  novel  and  the 
best  play  of  his  generation  is  not  an  honor;  to  say 
nothing  of  his  bein'  one  o'  the  best  fellows?  (To 
GOLDSMITH)  Though,  hang  it,  Noll,  it's  bettin'  on 
a  sure  thing  when  we  play  at  rivals,  and  you  already 
married  to  the  girl. 


86  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  You  too,  Ned?  I  tell  you  that 
we're  not  married. 

CAPTAIN.  My  sister  says  they  were  married  in 
France  and  Catherine  says  so  too. 

GOLDSMITH.  (More  angrily)  Hang  it  all,  I  con 
fess  I'm  a  man  easily  deceived  but  I'm  damned  if  I 
wouldn't  know  it  if  I  was  married — wouldn't  I  ? 

BURKE.  Well  /  should.  And  you  give  me  your 
word? 

GOLDSMITH.    I  do. 

BURKE.  (Magnificently  to  CAPTAIN  and  KEN- 
RICK)  Then  we'll  have  no  more  talk  about  it  at  all, 
at  all. 

KENRICK.     My  sentiments  exactly.     We've  had 

far  too  much  talk.     (Turns  to  GOLDSMITH)     Dr. 

Goldsmith,  Mr.  Burke  will  act  as  your  friend — I've 

:  seen  you  wear  a  sword  at  times  for  dress  parade — • 

will  you  get  it  now  and  follow  us  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  I  will.  (To  BURKE)  Have  you  a 
guinea,  Ned?  The  sword's  in  pawn  for  that 
amount. 

BURKE.  Divil  a  guinea,  but  I've  a  friend  in  the 
Temple  will  lend  us  two  swords. 

GOLDSMITH.     (Getting  hat)     Good! 

(Enter  LANDLADY,  TWITCH  and  FLANAGAN. 
TWITCH  is  GARRICK  disguised  as  a  Dogberry 
type  of  bailiff.  The  make  up  is  so  perfect  that 
the  audience  do  not  suspect  GARRICK  until  he 
discloses  himself.) 

LANDLADY.    That's  him. 

TWITCH.  Doctor  O'Goldsmith?  (The  voice  is 
the  kind  known  in  England  as  "  gin  and  fog  ") 

GOLDSMITH.     Oliver  Goldsmith. 

TWITCH.     (Correcting  paper)     Oh! 

FLANAGAN.  (In  high  thin  Irish  brogue)  I  told 
you  there  were  no  O'Goldsmiths — sure  Goldsmith's 
a  Jew  name. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  87 

(TWITCH  attends  every  word  of  FLANAGAN'S  with 
bovine  admiration  and  respect.) 

GOLDSMITH.    What  can  I  do  for  you? 

TWITCH.  You  can  pay  me  this  woman's  reckon 
ing  o'  three  guineas  or  I  seizes  your  person  and 
household  effects. 

KENRICK.  Well — gentlemen — we  await  your 
pleasure. 

GOLDSMITH.    We're  with  you. 

TWITCH.    Don't  forget  me,  sir. 

GOLDSMITH.  Take  the  stuff  and  welcome. 
(Starts  and  is  stopped  again)  Would  you  kape  me 
here  whin  there's  a  matter  of  honor? 

TWITCH.  It's  a  matter  of  business  with  me.  I 
hold  yer  person  and  yer  household  effects. 

(KENRICK  and  CAPTAIN  laugh.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  KENRICK)  You'll  not  take 
advantage  of  this  predicament,  will  ye,  after  callin' 
me  all  kinds  of  a  liar?  If  you're  a  man  lind  me 
three  guineas  to  discharge  this  bailiff  and  I'll  pay 
ye  as  soon  as  I've  run  ye  through. 

KENRICK.  As  you  are  going  to  the  sponging 
house  I  trust  you'll  tell  us  where  to  find  Mrs.  Gold 
smith  to  extend  her  relief. 

GOLDSMITH.  You'll  find  Mister  Goldsmith  about 
half  a  sword's  length  from  your  dirty  face  before 
the  morning's  over. 

CAPTAIN.  Any  messenger  may  find  us  at  Tom 
Davies.  (Exit) 

(KENRICK  laughs  and  follows.) 

BURKE.  See  here,  officer.  I'm  a  barrister — 
Burke's  me  name. 

TWITCH.  (Growling  hoarsely)  I  don't  care  for 
no  barrister.  There's  my  papers. 

(Enter  BIFF,  a  tailor's  boy,  with  a  bundle.) 
BIFF.    Dr.  Goldsmith? 


88  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  BURKE)  I  can  lick  this  one 
without  a  sword.  Yes,  sir,  I'm  Goldsmith. 

BIFF.    Here. 

GOLDSMITH.    What  is  it? 

BIFF.    Your  coats  from  Mr.  Filby. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  as  I  can't  pay  for  them,  you'd 
better  take  them  back  to  Mr.  Filby  and  say 

TWITCH.  (Laying  heavy  hand  on  the  parcel) 
No,  sir;  bein'  in  your  possession  I  seizes  'em.  (To 
BIFF)  Your  master'll  have  to  proceed  by  constable 
and  replevin. 

BIFF.  (To  GOLDSMITH)  I  give  'em  to  you, 
didn't  I? 

GOLDSMITH.  You  did;  with  a  princely  gener 
osity. 

BIFF.     Well,  that's  what    Mr.    Filby    told    me. 
\(Exit) 
{TWITCH  opens  the  bundle  disclosing  two  coats.) 

BURKE.    Blue  velvet,  Noll. 
GOLDSMITH.    And  bloom  colored  satin. 
BURKE.     (Incredulous)     And  you're  not  mar 
ried?. 

(GOLDSMITH  is  too  angry  to  speak.) 

FLANAGAN.  (To  TWITCH  and  picking  up  a 
chair)  Shall  I  move  out  me  stuff? 

BURKE.  Officer.  All  trades  must  live,  and  yours 
is  a  necessary  one.  My  friend  and  I  must  have  a 
word  together.  (Hands  shilling) 

TWITCH.  (Walking  over  and  examining  "bal 
cony)  I  hope  your  honor  takes  nothing  amiss  as  I 
does;  as  I  does  nothing  but  my  duty.  I'm  sure  no 
man  can  say  I  ever  give  a  gentleman  as  was  a  gen 
tleman,  ill  usage.  If  I  saw  a  gentleman  was  a  gen 
tleman  I've  arranged  not  to  see  him  for  ten  weeks 
together.  Don't  you  know  me,  Ned?  (Aside) 

(TWITCH  discloses  himself  as  GARRICK.) 
BURKE.    No — why,  yes. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  89 


TWITCH.    Sh- 


BURKE.    Davey  Garrick ! 

TWITCH.  (Indicating  FLANAGAN)  The  Prop 
erty  Boy  from  the  theatre. 

BURKE.    What  the  divil's  it  all  mean? 

TWITCH.  They  can't  run  a  sword  thro*  a  gentle 
man  when  he's  in  the  hands  of  the  law,  can  they? 
He  can't  fight.  I'm  the  law.  (Aloud  and  resuming 
character)  Under  the  circumstances  just  outside— 

LANDLADY.  (Objecting  to  the  apparent  bribe  and 
the  diminution  of  official  pressure)  But  see  here — 

BURKE.  (Represssing  laughter}  Please  take 
your  client  with  you. 

TWITCH.  Purceedin'  is  perfectly  regular. 
(Takes  LANDLADY'S  arm) 

FLANAGAN.    Come  on.     (Takes  the  other  arm) 

LANDLADY.     (Going)    Well,  see  here 

(Exit  FLANAGAN.) 

TWITCH.  Perfectly  regular.  (Puts  her  out  and 
•follows) 

BURKE.  (Aside}  I  don't  understand  it  at  all. 
(Standing  R.  of  table,  leaning  on  it  and  facing{ 
GOLDSMITH)  Oliver  Goldsmith? 

GOLDSMITH.  ( Some  business  left  of  table} 
Edmund  Burke. 

BURKE.    Man  to  man. 

GOLDSMITH.    Man  to  man. 

BURKE.     Ye're  not  married? 

GOLDSMITH.  I'm  not  married.  Do  I  look  like  & 
liar? 

BURKE.  Not  now.  (Pause)  But  you  did  whin 
those  two  blackguards  were  baitin*  you. 

GOLDSMITH.  Married  to  Mary;  with  these  legs, 
and  this  bald  head  o'  mine  ? 

BURKE.  That's  what  I  was  thinkin'  meself ;  but 
she  brought  me  up  with  a  round  turn,  I  tell  you. 

GOLDSMITH.    Whin  was  this? 


90  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

BURKE.    That  day  at  rehearsal. 
GOLDSMITH.     You  were  makin'  fun  o'  me  legs, 
Mr.  Burke. 

BURKE.  No,  but  thinkin'  of  'em — and  Mary 
countin'  out  on  her  fingers  the  men  that  love  you, 
Noll. 

GOLDSMITH.    On  one  hand. 

BURKE.  On  three  fingers — and  says  I  "  Yes,  but 
none  of  'em's  women  " — and  she  turned  on  me  like 
the  wife  of  Ulysses  scolding  the  boarders  and  says 
she  "  But  I'm  a  woman  and  put  that  in  your  pipe 
and  smoke  it." 

GOLDSMITH.  Why,  you're  the  man  of  all  the 
world  for  her,  Ned. 

BURKE.   -'Tis  you  she  loves. 

GOLDSMITH.    Well,  at  times  I've  thought  she  did. 

BURKE.    Then  why  don't  you  marry  her  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Why,  Ned,  the  doctor  gives  me — a 
year — one  year 

BURKE.  Drat  the  doctor — where  does  he  get  a 
year  to  give  anybody?  Luck's  with  you  now  and 
you  may  live  a  thousand.  Why  the  touch  o'  her 
hand'd  be  like  the  fountain  of  youth. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Shaking  head)  No,  no,  me  father 
was  about  me  same  age  when  he  died.  I  wouldn't 
do  it.  (To  fireplace)  If  she  walked  in  this  minute 
I'd  tell  her  I  never  loved  her;  though  to  think  she 
cared  for  me  makes  rainbows  in  me  eyes  whin  I 
wink  'em. 

BURKE.  Why,  Noll,  it's  something,  as  times  go 
now,  to  be  the  widow  of  a  chap  like  you. 

GOLDSMITH.    D'ye  mane  it's  that  she  wants? 

BURKE.     That's  better  than  Kenrick. 

GOLDSMITH.  Do  you  think  she's  really  promised 
to  him  ? 

BURKE.  I  don't  know.  (Down  R.)  There's  been 
some  divil's  own  work  in  the  Horneck  family.  The 
old  lady  sent  for  me  early  yesterday  morning. 

GOLDSMITH.    The  mother? 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  91 

BURKE.  (Nodding)  The  mother,  and  says 
she — (Pause)  But  'twas  as  a  barrister  she  asked 
me  advice;  and  I've  no  right  to  talk  at  all. 

GOLDSMITH.  Whin  ye  nade  consulting  counsel? 
Couldn't  you  ? 

BURKE.  (Relieved)  That'll  do.  (GOLDSMITH 
sits)  Well — This  cut-throat  Kenrick's  blackmailin' 
the  family.  The  Horneck's  dead  father  was  trustee 
for  some  estate;  and  he  died  with  his  books  in  a 
muddle. 

GOLDSMITH.    Go  on 

BURKE.  Well,  this  fellow  Kenrick's  bought  up 
for  a  song,  half  a  dozen  claims  against  'em,  and 
threatens  suit.  The  old  lady  sees  her  cottage,  and 
her  son's  commission  in  the  guards,  and  the  reputa 
tion  o'  the  dead  man,  and  the  future  o'  both  the 
girls,  in  her  mind's  eye,  goin'  over  the  cataract. 

GOLDSMITH.     (Densely)     Has  she  a  cataract? 

BURKE.     (Angrily)     'Twas  a  figure  of  speech — 
like    your    damned    rainbows    whin    yer    winkin' 
(Goes  right) 

GOLDSMITH.    Go  on. 

BURKE.  There's  a  sayin*  that  a  man  who's  his 
own  lawyer  has  a  fool  for  a  client — I  think  he  has 
a  knave  just  as  often.  This  fellow's  engaged  no 
lawyer  at  all.  Now  I  want  to  look  up  the  Court 
records  before  I  do  anything  else  meself. 

GOLDSMITH.    That's  best. 

BURKE.  But  that  takes  money — I  came  to  you,  a 
successful  playwright  to  get  it.  The  tip  I  gave  that 
officer  was  me  last  shilling. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Consoling)  Sure  that's  what 
shillin's  are  for. 

BURKE.  But  what's  to  be  done?  I  should  be 
knee-deep  now  in  parchments  across  the  street. 
(Crosses  to  window) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Rises  front  of  table)  And  I've 
got  to  fight  that  blackguard  before  dinner. 

BURKE.    Not  sixpence  between  us. 


92  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  Garrick  wants  a  play  now  I'm  a 
success;  and  I've  written  to  'em  for  sixty  pounds. 
( BURKE  shakes  his  head)  Too  much,  eh?  That's 
what  I  feared.  Well — here's  four  books — hand 
tooled  and  gilt  edges.  They're  worth  sixteen  guin 
eas. 

BURKE.    Where  did  you  get  'em  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Doctor  Johnson  brought  them  here 
for  me  to  review.  Take  'em  to  Tom  Davies;  and 
tell  him  I  want  five  guineas  till  this  day  week — • 
borrow  those  swords  you  say  you  can  get  from  your 
friend.  Put  them,  two  here;  and  three  in  here. 
(Dramatizes  putting  two  and  three  guineas  in 
BURKE'S  respective  vest  pockets)  Three  to  my 
landlady  and  two  to  you.  (Pushes  him) 

(Enter  TWITCH  and  FLANAGAN.) 

TWITCH.  There's  a  carriage  downstairs;  with  a 
gentleman  and  two  ladies  in  it 

BURKE.    Well  ? 

TWITCH.    To  see  Dr.  Goldsmith. 

GOLDSMITH.    Who  are  they? 

TWITCH.  One  of  'em  give  my  man  Flanagan  a 
card.  (Indicates  FLANAGAN  in  great  pride) 

BURKE.    Let's  have  the  card. 

TWITCH.  (Pause  and  Dogberry  exposition)  If 
yer  honors  only  knew  that  little  bit  of  flesh  as  I  do 
—Rabbit  me,  but  he'd  die  first — before  he  give  up 
that  card;  unless  I  told  him  to.  (Pause  and  dis 
play)  Flanagan,  give  up  the  card. 

(FLANAGAN  obeys.) 

BURKE.  (Takes  card.  Reading)  Boswell. 
(Goes  to  balcony  and  looks  down) 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  TWITCH)  And  two  ladies  you 
said? 

(TWITCH  heavily  defers  to  FLANAGAN  and  nods  for 
him  to  reply.) 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  93 

FLANAGAN.  Two  ladies ;  and  a  coachman ;  and  a 
footman ;  and  a  carriage ;  and  two  horses. 

TWITCH.  (Bursting  with  admiration)  Little 
Flanagan !  Rabbit  me  !  but  he's  a  weasel. 

BURKE.  (Returning)  Bos  well's  on  the  pave 
ment — I  can't  see  the  ladies — the  carriage  is  cov 
ered. 

GOLDSMITH.    Did  he  see  you? 

FLANAGAN.  He  gi'  me  the  card  with  both  his 
two  eyes  on  me 

BURKE.     Did  you  tell  him  why  you  were  here? 

FLANAGAN.    He  axed  for  Doctor  Goldsmith. 

BURKE.    Yes — yes 

FLANAGAN.  And  I  says,  says  I — I'm  his  man,  sir. 
(Looks  to  TWITCH  for  further  orders) 

BURKE.     His  man? 

TWITCH.  (Pause  and  smile)  That's  Flanagan — 
when  he  sees  a  gentleman  is  a  gentleman 

FLANAGAN.    And  an  Irish  gentleman 

TWITCH.    Why,  he's  a  good  'un. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  go  down  again,  Mr.  Flana 
gan  ;  and  say  to  Mr.  Boswell  that  Doctor  Goldsmith 
is  very  busy  and  that  unless  his  business  is  very  im 
portant,  that  Doctor  Goldsmith  will  see  Mr.  Boswell 
at  his  club. 

FLANAGAN.  (To  TWITCH)  Shall  I  tell  him 
that? 

TWITCH.  (Exasperating  pause  and  smile)  Die 
first!  Yes,  Flanagan  tell  him  that? 

GOLDSMITH.  And  whisper  to  him  that  Doctor 
Goldsmith's  in  no  condition  to  see  ladies. 

(FLANAGAN    looks    at    TWITCH — TWITCH     nods, 
FLANAGAN  goes.) 

TWITCH.  (Indicating  the  door  where  FLANAGAN 
went)  Die  first.  (Goes  up) 

BURKE.  He  may  insist ;  and  I  don't  care  to  meet 
him. 


94  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Taking  BURKE  and  the  books  to 
the  door)  At  the  last  landing  the  stairs  divide.  Go 
through  the  courtyard  and  out  the  back  way;  and 
Ned,  get  a  bottle  of  Madeira.  There's  sixpence  on 
the  empty  bottle.  (Hands  BURKE  the  bottle  from 
table.  BURKE  exit.  GOLDSMITH  removes  coat  and 
begins  to  put  on  the  bloom  coat)  And  now,  Mis 
ter — Mister — I  forgot  your  name. 

TWITCH.  How  can  you  forget  what  you  never 
knew? 

GOLDSMITH.    True.    May  I  ask  your  name? 

TWITCH.     You  may. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Tidying  room)  Then  pray,  sir, 
what  is  your  name? 

TWITCH.  I  didn't  promise  to  tell  you  that.  Ha, 
ha !  A  joke  breaks  no  bones  as  we  say  amongst  us 
as  practices  the  law.  Ha,  ha. 

(Enter  FLANAGAN.) 

FLANAGAN.    A  note  from  one  of  the  ladies. 
GOLDSMITH.    For  me? 

(FLANAGAN  gives  note  to  TWITCH.) 

TWITCH.  Die  first.  (Takes  note  .reads)  "Doc 
tor  Goldsmith" — (Passes  note) 

GOLDSMITH.  From  Mary — (Reads)  "I  must 
see  you.  Mary  Horneck."  (Speaks)  In  quarters 
like  this.  (Reads)  "  I  must  see  you "  and  I'm 
keeping  her  waiting.  Go  down,  please,  Mr.  Flana 
gan,  and  show  the  ladies  up. 

FLANAGAN.     (To  TWITCH)     Shall  I? 

TWITCH.  (Pause  and  smiling  nods  toward 
FLANAGAN)  Yes,  Flanagan,  show  'em  up. 

(Exit  FLANAGAN.) 

GOLDSMITH.  I  trust,  sir,  you  have  no  reason  for 
keeping  your  name  a  secret. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  95 

TWITCH.  The  law  does  nothing  without  reason. 
But  I'm  ashamed  to  tell  no  man  my  name.  It's 
Twitch,  sir — Timothy  Twitch. 

GOLDSMITH.  Do  you  mind,  sir,  if  I  introduce  you 
as  a  friend  of  mine? 

TWITCH.  Not  at  all,  sir,  when  there's  a  lady  in 
the  case.  If  you  think  I  look  like  a  friend  of  yours. 
I'm  not  over  well  in  clothes.  Smoke  the  pocket 
holes. 

GOLDSMITH.    Perhaps  this  coat  would  fit  you. 

TWITCH.  (Regarding  the  renovated  coat}  Per 
haps  it  would ;  but  it's  a  color  I'd  never  choose  for 
myself. 

GOLDSMITH.    Try  it  on. 

TWITCH.  (TWITCH  removes  his  coat  and  is 
helped  into  the  new  one)  Only  to  oblige  you. 

GOLDSMITH.  Fairly  well;  and  the  color's  as 
pretty  a  contrast  as  I  ever  saw. 

TWITCH.  People  say  us  bailiffs  have  no  humanity 
—but  I  shows  you  my  humanity  this  minute.  Rab 
bit  me,  but  I'd  hate  to  be  found  dead  in  this. 

GOLDSMITH.  I  trust  you'll  say  as  little  as  possible, 
Mr.  Twitch,  and  nothing  at  all  without  I  ask  you. 

TWITCH.    Never  fear  me,  sir. 

(Enter  FLANAGAN  followed  by  MARY,  CATHERINE 
and  BOSWELL.) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Kissing  her  hand)  My  dear  Miss 
Mary. 

MARY.    (Anxiously)    Has  my  brother  been  here? 

GOLDSMITH.    He  has. 

MARY.  Oh — (Handkerchief  to  face  and  crosses 
to  balcony) 

CATHERINE.    Was  Mr.  Garrick  here? 

TWITCH.    Yes,  mum. 

GOLDSMITH.    He  was  not. 


96  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

TWITCH.    Who  was  that  gentleman  then? 

GOLDSMITH.    Mr  Burke. 

TWITCH.  (To  FLANAGAN)  Mr.  Garrick  wasn't 
here. 

CATHERINE.    We  surprised  you,  didn't  we  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  (Looking  after  MARY)  'Tis  a  way 
you  have,  (c.) 

CATHERINE.  (L.  c.)  We  didn't  know  where  you 
lived.  Mr.  Boswell  was  good  enough  to  bring  us. 

GOLDSMITH.     Thank  you,  Mr.  Boswell. 

BOSWELL.  (Crosses  up)  You're  kind  of  a  high 
liver,  Doctor. 

(( TWITCH  and  FLANAGAN  laugh.    CATHERINE  goes 
in  front  of  table. ,\ 

GOLDSMITH.  (To  TWITCH)  Be  still,  sir,  be 
still.  (To  BOSWELL  and  CATHERINE)  I  haven't 
had  him  in  my  service  before  this  week. 

TWITCH.    Introduce  me. 

GOLDSMITH.  Permit  me  to  introduce  a  friend, 
Mr.  Twitch. 

TWITCH.     (Bowing)     In  his  majesty's  service. 

BOSWELL.    Oh,  the  marine,  I  presume. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  they  do  occasionally  serve  in 
the  fleet.  (Goes  to  MARY  who  keeps  her  back  to 
him  and  looks,  over  the  balcony) 

CATHERINE.  Now,  we're  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  Bossy,  for  fetching  us;  but  we  can  go  back 
alone. 

BOSWELL.    Can't  I  wait  for  you? 

CATHERINE.    No. 

BOSWELL.    I  want  to  talk  to  you,  little  one. 

CATHERINE.     Nonsense — you  talked  all  the  way 

BOSWELL.     But  not  alone,  as  I  would  like  to. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  97 

(Pause)  You  don't  think  me  serious,  do  you,  Cath 
erine  ? 

CATHERINE.  Oh,  yes,  I  do.  That's  what's  the 
matter  with  you — you're  too  serious.  (Turns  and 
meets  TWITCH) 

TWITCH.    Catherine • 

CATHERINE.    How  dare  you? 

TWITCH.  My  sweetheart — Sh — "  there's  some 
thing  in  your  eyes,  little  girl  that  sinks  into  my  soul 
and  seems  part  of  myself " 

CATHERINE.     (Recognizing  GARRICK)     Davey! 

TWITCH.  Oh — (GOLDSMITH  is  recalled  by 
TWITCH'S  voice.  In  his  bailiff  voice.  To  CATH 
ERINE)  Pleasant  weather  we're  having — very 
pleasant  weather  for  this  time  of  year. 

CATHERINE.    Very  pleasant  indeed. 

FLANAGAN.  (Declaring  himself  "in")  Very 
good  circuit  weather;  in  the  country. 

GOLDSMITH.  Why,  we  haven't  chairs  enough, 
Flanagan,  go  to  Mrs. — the  next  flight  below  and 
borrow  a  couple  of  chairs. 

BOSWELL.    Why,  we  gentlemen  can  stand. 

GOLDSMITH.    Not  at  all — I'll  go  with  you. 

TWITCH.  And  I'll  go  too.  One  minute — (Ar 
rests  GOLDSMITH)  Before  and  behind;  that's  the 
rule,  Flanagan.  (To  GOLDSMITH)  After  you,  sir. 
(Exeunt  FLANAGAN,  GOLDSMITH,  TWITCH) 

'(BOSWELL  laughs.') 

MARY.    What  an  odd  looking  friend. 
CATHERINE.    And  what  a  peculiar  servant. 
BOSWELL.    They're  neither  friend  nor  servant ;  or 
I'm  mistaken.    They're  officers. 
CATHERINE.    Officers  ? 


98  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

BOSWELL.  Yes — sheriff's  officers — the  Doctor's 
under  arrest. 

MARY.  (Entering  from  balcony)  Arrest — for 
what,  think  you  ? 

BOSWELL.    Debt. 

CATHERINE.     Debt? 

BOSWELL.    No  doubt  of  it. 

MARY.  Oh,  how  cruel — Lend  me  your  purse, 
sister. 

CATHERINE.    But,  will  he  take  it? 

MARY.  /  shall  offer  it.  You  take  it,  Mr.  Boswell, 
and  find  some  way  to  give  it  secretly  to  these  men 
and  send  them  away. 

BOSWELL.  (Demurring)  But  my  own  purse, 
Miss  Mary — — 

MARY.    You  may  need  both. 

(Enter  GOLDSMITH,  FLANAGAN  and  TWITCH.    First 
two  have  a  chair  each.) 

GOLDSMITH.  Here  are  chairs  for  all.  The  sim 
plicity  of  me  lodging  is  unused  to  such  sudden 
popularity. 

CATHERINE.  The  simplicity  is  all  right — but 
where's  your  housemaid — Just  look  at  that  cobweb  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  (Catching  the  broom  she  picks  up) 
For  goodness  sake,  "  Little  Comedy  " — I've  been 
watching  the  habits  of  that  spider  for  a  six  months 
- — (Laughs)  I'm  writing  a  history  of  animated  na 
ture — that's  why  I'm  up  here.  The  swallows  build 
about  me  windows — the  mice  creep  over  me  coun 
terpane — that  spider's  worth  sixpence  a  page  to  me. 
See  what  I've  written.  (Reads)  "There  i«  a, 
singular  law  governing  a  spider  in  the  construction 
of  his  web." 

TWITCH.    No,  sir.     (All  look  startled) 

GOLDSMITH.    I  beg  your  pardon. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  99 

TWITCH.  They  ain't  no  law  about  spiders. 
When  it  comes  down  to  talkin'  about  the  law,  why 
I'm  at  'ome.  Now  in  a  course  of  law 

MARY.  (Interrupting)  I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
time  to  acquire  the  law.  Doctor  Goldsmith,  I'm  on 
a  very  important  errand;  and  if  your  friends  will 
excuse  us 

GOLDSMITH.  (Pleading  to  TWITCH)  To  be 
sure.  You  heard  the  lady's  request,  sir — and  our 
stand. 

TWITCH.  (Moving  toward  door)  Oh,  I  won't 
go  away — and  as  for  Flanagan — (Pause  and  smile) 
Die  first!  Madame  (To  MARY)  you're  a  gentle 
woman.  I  challenge  the  whole  town  to  show  a  man 
in  a  genteeler  pactice  than  myself — and  I  can  tell 
a  gentlewoman  as  far  as  I  sees  her.  Flanagan — 

(FLANAGAN  obeys  and  stands  at  the  door.) 

Bos  WELL.  I  think  I'll  go  too— Good  mornin', 
ladies — Doctor 

GOLDSMITH.    Your  servant,  sir. 

BOSWELL.    Mister — Mister 

TWITCH.    Twitch,  sir. 

BOSWELL.     (Bowing)     Mr.  Twitcher. 

FLANAGAN.  Not  at  all.  Twitch  is  his  name — 
Timothy  Twitch.  (Exit  FLANAGAN) 

BOSWELL.  (Holding  up  purse)  Oh — after  you, 
sir. 

TWITCH.  Before  and  be — oh!  (To  GOLD 
SMITH)  Just  oustide.  (Exit) 

'(BOSWELL  -follows  laughing.) 

CATHERINE.    '(Quickly  explaining)     It's  all  my 
fault,  Doctor. 
GOLDSMITH.    What  is? 


lioo  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

CATHERINE.    The  fib. 

GOLDSMITH.    About  me  and 

CATHERINE.     And  Mary — being  married. 

MARY.    You  didn't  think  /  ever  said  that  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  I  don't  know.  I'm  so  happy 
with  you  girls  here ;  and  the  sunshine  a-streamin'  in 
there  at  the  window,  that  I  need  only  a  few  pans 
and  kettles  to  make  me  wish  I  was  married  to  both 
o'  ye. 

CATHERINE.    But  the  mischief's  done. 

GOLDSMITH.     Mischief? 

CATHERINE.  And  we've  got  to  stand  by  it,  for  a 
few  days. 

GOLDSMITH.    What's  that? 

MARY.     (Reprovingly}     I  told  you,  Catherine. 

GOLDSMITH.  But  not  here.  There's  no  room  for 
three  of  us.  (CATHERINE  laughs — MARY  goes  to 
window  annoyed) 

MARY.     Catherine ! 

GOLDSMITH.  But  I'll  get  out  meself.  (Girls  turn, 
away)  Plague  take  it,  I  say  nothing  that's  right. 
Come,  tell  me  please.  If  I'm  married  at  all  tell  me 
whin  it  all  happened. 

MARY.  I  know  you  don't  think  I'm  so  unmaid- 
enly,  Doctor  Goldsmith,  as  to  have  been  the  author 
of  that  statement. 

CATHERINE.  (Haughtily)  Oh,  I'm  the  unmaid- 
enly  one,  am  I? 

MARY.     (Severely)    Well,  are  you  not? 

CATHERINE.  It's  not  unwomanly  anyway.  If  it 
is  unmaidenly,  so  there,  and  if  you  wouldn't  have 
done  as  much  for  me,  you're  no  sister  of  mine. 
(Goes  to  MARY;  dumb  show  exchange) 

GOLDSMITH.  My!  My!  But  two  girls  a- 
squibbling  takes  me  back  to  me  boyhood.  If  one 
of  'em'd  only  shake  her  fist  at  me,  I'd  feel  married; 
I'd  feel  married  I  know. 

MARY.    I  don't  know  why  we  are  here  now. 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  101 

CATHERINE.  We  hoped  to  reach  you,  Doctor,  be 
fore  my  brother  did — that's  the  reason — we  wanted 
you 

MARY.    Say  you  wanted  it,  Catherine. 

CATHERINE.  Well,  /  wanted  you  not  to  deny 
that  you  and  Mary  were  married. 

MARY.    Oh!     (Goes  out  onto  balcony) 

GOLDSMITH.  If  I  did  appearances'd  be  against 
me  now.  (Looks  yearningly  after  MARY)  We're 
as  far  apart  as  a  couple  that  have  been  together  for 
life.  (Pause,  turns  to  CATHERINE)  Well  then 
we're  married.  Now,  what's  the  joke? 

CATHERINE.  My  mother,  and  brother  Charles 
have  been  trying  every  way  in  their  power,  to  make 
Mary  marry  Mr.  Kenrick. 

GOLDSMITH.    (In  disgust)    AH 

CATHERINE.  I  know  Mary  better  than  anybody ; 
and  all  her  life  I've  had  to  take  care  of  her.  They 
wouldn't  take  "  no  "  for  an  answer.  She  said  her 
heart  was  not  free;  but  bless  you  that  made  no  dif 
ference  to  them ;  and  then  there  came  last  night — • 
(Holds  up  her  hands)  I  don't  suppose  you  know, 
Doctor,  how  miserable — the  members  of  a  little 
family  who  love  one  another,  can  make  themselves, 
trying  to  regulate  each  other's  affairs. 

GOLDSMITH.  Oh,  don't  I?  There  were  eight  of 
us 

CATHERINE.  (With  some  pages  of  print)  Well, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  this  man  Kenrick  at 
last  produced  this.  Do  you  know  what  those  are? 

GOLDSMITH.  The  bane  of  my  existence — galley 
proof-sheets.  (He  goes  to  MARY) 

MARY.  Mr.  Kenrick  says  it's  an  article  ready 
for  Griffith's  Review. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Scanning  the  type)  The  name  of 
your  father. 

MARY.  Yes — a  vile  slander  and  Griffiths  is  to 
print  it.  Kenrick  said  he  could  stop  it,  if  he  might 


102  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

say  to  the  publisher,  that  one  of  the  young  ladies 
concerned,  was  his  promised  wife.  Charles 
threatened  to  sell  his  commission,  as  it  seemed  to 
have  been  bought  with  stolen  money.  Mother  was 
going  to  move  out  of  the  house 

CATHERINE.  Yes,  and  camp  on  the  street — but  I 
spiked  everybody's  gun  by  simply  declaring  that 
Mary  was  married. 

GOLDSMITH.    Beautiful. 

CATHERINE.  They  wanted  to  know  to  whom; 
and  of  course  I  couldn't  stop  then,  could  I  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Not  if  you  had  any  spirit  about  you 
at  all,  you  couldn't. 

CATHERINE.  I  just  had  time  to  think,  that  the 
only  occasion  when  any  such  thing  could  have  hap 
pened,  was  when  we  were  all  together,  in  Paris. 
So  that  put  it  onto  you. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Disappointed)  Oh,  I  see — simply 
as  a  matter  of  probability? 

CATHERINE.    That's  it. 

GOLDSMITH.  And  not  consulting  any  preference 
that  Mary  could  have  had  herself. 

CATHERINE.  Not  at  all.  Besides  it  had  to  be 
some  good  natured  fellow  like  you  to  consent  to  it. 

GOLDSMITH.  (Depressed.  Pause)  I  See — 
'(Pause)  And  how  long  does  the  joke  last? 

MARY.  (Measuring  the  awkwardness  of  the 
situation)  No  longer.  I  am  already  humiliated  be 
yond  enduring.  (Goes  toward  door) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Detaining  her.  Seriously)  Miss 
Mary,  d'ye  remember  what  you  said  at  rehearsal; 
and  7  was  humiliated  past  endurance  by  the  couplin' 
o'  my  ourang  outang  figure  with  the  bare  initials  o' 
your  sainted  name.  You  took  the  paper  and  you 
said :  "  It's  an  honor  I  have  not  deserved."  (CATH 
ERINE  goes  to  balcony)  Why,  those  words  have 
rung  and  echoed  from  my  heart  through  the  corners 
o'  this  garret  and  out  o'  that  dusty  chimney  to  the 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  103 

stars.  That — that  was  the  tragedy  of  spleen  and 
printers'  ink.  This — this  is  only  the  joke  of  the 
colleen,  "  Little  Comedy ;  "  and  yet  it  is  an  honor 
that  could  give  lustre  to  a  crown. 

(Enter  BURKE.  He  carries  a  bottle  and  two  swords. 
BURKE  stands  still  and  looks  from  one  to  the 
other  until  all  three  are  embarrassed.) 

MARY.     (After  the  pause)    What  is  that? 

BURKE.  A  bottle— I  had  it  filled  for  Mr.  Gold 
smith.  (GOLDSMITH  crosses  to  BURKE)  Where 
are  your  friends? 

GOLDSMITH.    What  friends? 

BURKE.    Your  man  Flanagan  and  the  other  one  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    Just  outside. 

( BURKE  shakes  his  head — both  men  look  at  the 
girls  in  questioning  mood  and  wonder.) 

MARY.     (Pause)     Yes,  I  paid  it. 

GOLDSMITH.  Give  me  that — (Takes  bottle  and 
pours  drink) 

MARY.  I'm  afraid  yours  is  a  bad  influence, 
Burke. 

BURKE.    Have  I  any  at  all  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  And  God  knows  I  want  it,  Ed 
mund.  (Pause  and  turns  to  the  girls)  You  see, 
Ladies,  one  must  never  deceive  one's  doctor  nor 
one's  lawyer — Edmund — (Again  to  BURKE)  for 
prudential  reasons  it's  been  decided  to  say  that  Miss 
Mary  Horneck  and  meself  were  married — in 
France.  The  use  of  my  name  was  purely  accidental 
— as  Miss  Mary  was  not  consulted ;  and  for  me  own 
part — as  you  well  know — I'm  an  old  fellow  wrapped 
up  in  his  manuscripts  and  with  room  in  his  heart — 
for  no  one. 


104  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

(Knock.    Pause.    Enter  GARRICK  as  himself.) 

GARRICK.     Ladies — (Low  bow) 

MARY  and  CATHERINE.  Mr.  Garrick.  (Curt 
sies) 

GARRICK.  I  got  your  note,  Goldy — and  in  the 
absence  of  a  contract  I  hope  you  don't  object  to 
witnesses — (Draws  pocketbook) 

GOLDSMITH.    Not  at  all,  sir. 

GARRICK.  A  play  by  June.  Sixty  pounds  in  ad 
vance.  (Hands  GOLDSMITH  the  banknotes) 

GOLDSMITH.  (Apart  to  BURKE)  Ned,  am  I 
draymin'  ? 

BURKE.  (With  the  TWITCH  deception  in  mind) 
No,  Noll,  but  you're  not  very  wide  awake.  (They 
go  to  MARY) 

CATHERINE.  Oh,  Mr.  Garrick  you've  just  got 
me  into  the  most  awful  lot  of  trouble. 

GARRICK.    That's  my  specialty. 

CATHERINE.  I  wish  I'd  never  read  that  play  of 
yours. 

GARRICK.    Which  one  ? 

CATHERINE.    The  Clandestine  Marriage. 

GARRICK.  (Laughing)  I  wish  I'd  never  written 
it. 

CATHERINE.  I  followed  some  of  the  hints  in  it 
and  with  dreadful  consequences. 

GARRICK.  (Imitating  Bos  WELL)  You  haven't 
married  Boswell,  have  you? 

CATHERINE.    Hardly. 

GARRICK.  Well,  nothing  is  dreadful  if  you've 
escaped  that.  (Laughs) 

(Enter  JOHNSON  and  BOSWELL.) 

JOHNSON.    Dr.  Goldsmith!    Dr.  Goldsmith! 
GOLDSMITH.    Sir,  to  you,  Dr.  Johnson. 
JOHNSON.      Ladies — (All    bow)       Griffith    has 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  105 

changed  his  mind  about  the  review  of  those  books — 
(Pause)  Where  are  they  ? 

GOLDSMITH.  Those  books?  Well,  sir — (Looks 
from  JOHNSON  to  BURKE)  Where  are  they,  Ned? 

BURKE.    Where  are  what  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    The  books. 

BURKE.  Well,  blame  my  thick  wits — but  I  left 
'em— 

JOHNSON.  Left  them?  Left  them  where — (To 
GOLDSMITH)  what  was  he  doing  with  them? 

GOLDSMITH.  You  said  they  were  worth  sixteen 
guineas,  didn't  you? 

JOHNSON.    I  did. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well  I — I — (Looks  helplessly  about 
his  garret)  'tis  a  rat-trap  as  you  said  and  fine  books 
aren't  safe  in  a  place  like  this. 

JOHNSON.  So  it  seems — (To  BURKE)  Where 
are  they? 

BURKE.    I  left  them  in  care  of  Tom  Davies ! 

JOHNSON.  And  I  was  there  when  you  did  it. 
Where  are  those  five  guineas  Davies  gave  you  f or- 
them? 

BURKE.  Here,  sir — all  but  two  bob  I  gave  for 
the  wine. 

JOHNSON.  (Producing  books)  And  here  are  the 
books.  (General  laugh)  Now,  sir,  you'll  review 
them. 

GOLDSMITH.  I'll  see  Griffith  hanged  first — I've 
sixty  pounds  and  ye'll  all  take  breakfast  with  me  at 
Dilly's.  We'll  have  some  trussed  grouse — all  but 
Doctor  Johnson  and  he  gets  a  neck  of  mutton. 

JOHNSON.  Before  we  go,  sir,  let  us  come  to  the 
real  object  of  our  call.  What  is  this  gossip  in  the 
air  of  a  clandestine  marriage? 

GARRICK.  (Trying  to  help)  That's  about  Cath 
erine  and  me. 

JOHNSON.     Not  all,  sir. 

GARRICK.  (Complaining  to  CATHERINE)  Well 
won't  anybody  talk  about  us? 


io6  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

JOHNSON.  (To  GOLDSMITH)  You  are  reported 
to  have  married  Miss  Mary ;  in  France. 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  my  friends — my  clandestine 
marriage  with  Miss  Mary  is  a  matter  I  hope  you'll 
regard  as  a  secret  until  one  year — from  now. 

BOSWELL.     Is  the  breakfast  postponed  till  then? 

GOLDSMITH.  Not  at  all.  We'll  go  to  breakfast  at 
once — Oh — but  you'll  have  to  do  without  me.  I've 
an  engagement  elsewhere. 

GARRICK.    A  bridal  trip  by  yourself  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    To  mate  a  man,  sir. 

(Enter  CAPTAIN  and  KENRICK.) 

CAPTAIN.    She  is  here. 

GOLDSMITH.    Here's  me  man  now. 

BURKE.  Won't  you  all  move  on ;  Noll !  Doctor 
Johnson,  please  conduct  the  party  to  Dilly's. 

JOHNSON.  (Offering  MARY  his  arm)  Mrs. 
Goldsmith,  may  I  have  the  honor  ? 

MARY.  (Laughing)  Thanks,  Doctor,  I'll  go 
ftdth  Mr.  Goldsmith. 

(JOHNSON  laughs,  crosses  to  L.  and  exit.) 

GARRICK.  (Conducts  CATHERINE)  Mr.  Boswell, 
Will  you  escort  Mistress  Garrick?  (Laughs  as 
CATHERINE  affects  resentment) 

BOSWELL.    Mistress  Garrick! 

GARRICK.  (Scoring  on  BOSWELL'S  hesitation)  I 
won't  trouble  you.  You  might  lose  Doctor  Johnson. 
(Exit  laughing  with  CATHERINE.  BOSWELL  angrily 
exit) 

BURKE.  (To  CAPTAIN)  You'll  join  us  at  a 
breakfast  to  your  sister's  husband? 

CAPTAIN.     (Laughingly)     Certainly.     (Exit) 

BURKE.  (Alone  with  KENRICK,  GOLDSMITH  and 
MARY.  To  KENRICK)  Catherine  gave  us  these 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH.  107 

proof  sheets.    (Pause)    If  you  print  them — I'll  kill 
you. 

(Enter  LITTLE  MARY  with  a  stone  pot.) 

LITTLE  MARY.     Please,  sir,  Doctor  Goldsmith. 
GOLDSMITH.     Why,   little  one,   what  have  you 
there? 

(KENRICK  exit  after  a  glare  at  BURKE.) 

LITTLE  MARY.  My  mother  says  she  hopes  you're 
well  and  will  you  please  lend  her  this  pot  full  o' 
coals  ? 

GOLDSMITH.    To  be  sure. 

MARY.  (Noticing  the  pretty  child)  Won't  you 
shake  hands  with  me? 

LITTLE  MARY.    Yes,  ma'am. 

MARY.     What's  your  name? 

LITTLE  MARY.    Mary. 

MARY.    Well,  my  name  is  Mary,  too. 

LITTLE  MARY.    Does  he  love  you? 

MARY.    Who  ? 

LITTLE  MARY.    Doctor  Goldsmith? 

MARY.  (Embarrassed)  Why — I  think  he's  a 
very  good  friend  of  mine. 

LITTLE  MARY.  'Cause  he  said  he  loved  a  girl 
named  Mary. 

GOLDSMITH.  '(Dropping  coals)  My!  I  hope  I 
haven't  cracked  it.  (Gives  pot  to  LITTLE  MARY) 
There,  run  on,  my  dear. 

(Exit  LITTLE  MARY.    MARY  goes  to  window  left.) 

BURKE.  What  had  you  told  that  child  of  another 
Mary? 

GOLDSMITH.  Some  poor  verses  I  was  tinkerin* 
with 


OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

BURKE.  You  wrote  verses  to — to  this  other 
Mary? 

GOLDSMITH.  Tis  a  way  verses  have.  Sure  you 
must  write  them  to  some  one. 

BURKE.    Did  you  send  them? 

GOLDSMITH.    I  haven't. 

BURKE.    Why  not? 

GOLDSMITH.  Well,  one  writes  to  the  stars  some 
times  and  then 

MARY.  (Who  has  overheard,  comes  to  the  men) 
Is  she  so  far  away?  (Pause) 

BURKE.  (Pause)  Faith  he  won't  answer,  but  I 
may.  If  she  were  as  near  to  me  she'd  regret  it  for 
the  rest  of  her  natural  life.  Ah,  Mary  Horneck, 
you're  the  kind  o'  home  rule  I'd  like  to  see  for  the 
whole  of  Ireland.  I  don't  know  what  it  is  that 
makes  Irishmen  love  you  so;  but  I  think  it's  yer 
blue  eyes,  yer  dimples  and  the  way  you  show  yer 
teeth.  Why,  that  man  loves  you,  girl,  as  the  words 
in  the  poems  love  each  other;  and  he'd  a  told  you 
years  ago  but  that  some  doctors  made  him  think  he 
wasn't  long  for  this  world. 

MARY.     (Anxiously)     He  isn't  ill? 

BURKE.  Are  ye — Noll — Look  at — that — (Indi 
cating  MARY'S  face) 

GOLDSMITH.  I  never  had  a  day's  sickness  in  my 
life. 

(MARY  impulsively  takes  his  hand — BURKE  de 
lighted  turns  to  the  balcony  and  leaves  them  to 
gether.) 

SLOW  CURTAIN. 


YC1424?! 


